The Mentalist: Private Eyes
by Donnamour1969
Summary: NOW CONCLUDED! Teresa Lisbon's detective agency is in crisis, until a mysterious stranger saves the day. But can she entrust her heart to a man with an unknown past? Extreme AU. Romance/Humor/Mystery. Rated T/M for mild language and adult content. Thanks to phoenix2812 for the beautiful cover pic!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yes, another AU, but only because what's actually happening on the show right now is so exciting, I don't want to mess with canon (at least not yet). So, I hope you enjoy this little escape into another universe. Some of you older readers might recognize the parallels between this story and the 1980's TV show, _Remington Steele._ I admit to stealing the basic premise of the show, but the rest is all mine. So if you're unfamiliar with it, it should make no difference in your enjoyment of this fic. At first you might see Lisbon's actions as a bit out of character, but I beg you to just go with it, and I promise you'll soon see her true colors shining through…

**Private Eyes**

**Chapter 1**

"This case could show that we're not just a one-trick pony," said Teresa Lisbon, leaning back in the black leather chair behind the big desk of her office. She smiled and closed her eyes blissfully.

Grace Van Pelt, one of her partners in Patrick Jane Investigations, shook her head in wonder.

"I can't believe we'll actually be working for a state senator's son."

"Well, a senator's son's _lawyer_," Lisbon corrected. "If we get Richard Harper the younger out of this murder wrap, we'll finally be able to pick and choose the cases we want, not take every suspicious spouse or low-rent security job that comes our way." She picked up the tasteful gold nameplate on her desk and studied the bold letters fondly: _Patrick Jane_.

"Thanks to that stolen diamond case we solved last week-I mean _Mr. Jane_ solved—and our company name on the front page of the _Bee, _Senator Harper's family is willing to take a chance on us."

"Not to mention the fact that the senator knew you from the CBI…" He'd been a DA back then, Grace recalled. "But what if his son's not innocent?"

"I still have my principles-twenty-five-thousand dollar retainer or no. If it turns out we find evidence the kid did it, well, we drop the case."

Just at that moment, Wayne Rigsby walked in, his eyes going round as he heard his boss's last words.

"You're kidding, right?"

He for one could use the extra money. They'd yet to make a profit since they'd started this agency a year and a half ago, and despite the uptick since they'd made the big name change, it had been a genuine struggle to keep his head above water, and his savings had been depleted investing in this new venture. It was worth it, Rigsby knew, because it meant he could be with Grace. Recovery of those stolen diamonds had been a much needed break, but if things didn't improve dramatically in the next few months, he might have to consider getting back into law enforcement just to pay the bills, or put off his plans to propose to Grace.

"No, I'm not kidding. We agreed when we started this that we would only take cases we really believed in."

Rigsby well remembered; that's why it had taken them so long to come out ahead. Cheating husbands and finding long-lost relatives didn't exactly rake in the big bucks.

"If the senator's son killed his girlfriend," Lisbon continued, "no way am I helping an entitled, murdering playboy stay out of prison."

Rigsby and Van Pelt supposed they could agree with that, but money was still tight. Just then, the phone on the desk rang and Lisbon reached over to answer it.

"Patrick Jane Investigations. Teresa Lisbon speaking."

She immediately sat up straighter in her chair. "Yes, Senator," she said, her green eyes wide as she looked at her coworkers. She paused to listen to the strident voice on the line. "Yes, we'll have all our best people on it, sir. Yes, of course Mr. Jane will have a close hand in all aspects of the investigation…"

She blanched, noting how the couple shared her slight look of alarm. "You want to _meet_ him? Well, sir, I'm afraid Mr. Jane is—yes, I did say he was going to be involved. Yes. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. We'll uh, see you tomorrow then. Good-bye."

She barely restrained herself from slamming down the phone in its cradle.

"Holy shit," said Rigsby. His were Lisbon's unspoken sentiments exactly.

She closed her eyes briefly, willing herself not to panic. She couldn't let her team see how close they were to ruin now. That diamond case had only made a small dent in their debt. But it was a start.

"How the hell are we going to get out of this one, Boss," asked Grace, her own brow furrowed with trepidation.

Lisbon dropped her hands. "We don't, of course. We do what we always do: evasive maneuvers."

"But what-?" Rigsby began.

She waved a reassuring hand. "Don't worry about it. You guys were about to give up on this business before I came up with my last brilliant plan. Now, look at us—working for a senator's son! You two start looking into Harper's story, while I give our current hiccup some thought."

They trusted her implicitly, which was why, when she had decided to leave the California Bureau of Investigation, Rigsby and Van Pelt had gone with her. Well, that and it was against the rules of the CBI for romantic fraternization within a team. A ready-made job where they could work together was just too tempting to pass up.

Lisbon would get them out of this mess as she had always done, and everything would be just fine. Or, so hoped Wayne Rigsby.

When the pair left her office, Lisbon allowed her head to droop forward into her hands, emitting a soft groan of frustration. She picked up the nameplate again and stared at it as if it held the key to this quandary she'd created. Really, she should have known better.

She was only running this detective agency because someone had discovered another lie she'd told five years before, and she'd been drummed out of the CBI by her former boss, Virgil Minnelli, who had kindly given her the opportunity to leave with her honor, dignity, and severance pay intact—if she never worked in law enforcement again. Minelli, her mentor and friend, might have himself glossed over it completely, except that too many others knew about it, namely the new CBI Director, Gale Bertram. As it was, the bureau tended to shy away from scandal, which was why Sam Bosco had been given the same deal. She supposed she should count herself lucky she'd only lost her badge.

The second biggest lie she'd ever told was now back to bite her in the ass, but this lie had come from desperation, from a place of self preservation. Her team had counted on her, had joined her agency out of loyalty as well as for personal reasons, and she hadn't wanted to fail them. But they _had_ very nearly failed until she came up with something unbelievably daring and dishonest—an idea the uncharitable would label fraud. But in these days of the horrendous California economy, she had no idea if she could find another job. This was it—she'd poured all of her savings (as well as Rigsby's and Grace's) into this agency. If they folded, they would lose everything.

So she'd invented Patrick Jane…

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**Six months before…**_

Capital Investigations. It was near the top of the list in the phone book, alphabetically speaking anyway. They'd advertised in newspapers too, and sent brochures to old contacts within law enforcement. Few had bitten. They didn't have the budget for television or radio ads, and their website, though beautifully and professionally constructed by Van Pelt, hadn't lured them in as the trio had hoped.

Lisbon blamed the economy, but perhaps she had to face the truth of it: her reputation held the unmistakable whiff of scandal about it. What she'd done wasn't supposed to be public knowledge, but people talked, and she realized with a sinking heart that there would be no business forthcoming from that quarter of her old life. In addition, there was nothing particularly enticing or new in the name, _Capital Investigations_. Sacramento was the State Capital, so you couldn't swing a cat without a business attempting to capitalize (so to speak) on that fact. Nothing set them apart to the general public, either.

Something had to change.

Lisbon made this realization as she sat in the diner around the corner from the office building housing her floundering detective agency. She sipped her second cup of the bitter coffee, dreading going into work that morning to an empty waiting area and the worried expressions of her coworkers. She could sense they were on the verge of leaving, and she couldn't blame them.

She picked up the discarded newspaper of one of the booth's previous occupants, frowning when she saw that only the entertainment and want ads remained; someone had taken the news and sports pages. With a heavy sigh, she idly flipped open the movie section. Pierce Brosnan was apparently starring in a new movie. She'd always loved the handsome actor, even before he had played James Bond back in the nineties. It was the eighties that had introduced her to _Remington Steele_. Brosnan had played the suave, sophisticated conman who'd assumed the role of the illusive though brilliant detective, saving the failing agency of a smart female investigator who…

_No, Teresa_, she said to herself. _Don't even think about it._

But once the idea had taken hold, she hadn't been able to shake it. She paid her tab at the diner and walked back to her office, clutching the entertainment section in one damp palm. Laura Holt had gotten away with it, and she'd had to deal with the sexism of the early eighties. Teresa only had to overcome a mildly sullied reputation. _What if…?_

She smiled in greeting as she walked past Rigsby and Van Pelt in the reception area, the former munching on his morning cruller, the latter already busy at the front desk computer, no doubt trying further to finesse the already perfect Capital Investigations website.

"Good morning, Boss," they called, the moniker an old habit from their CBI days. Technically, they were partners.

"Morning. Any bites today?" she asked hopefully.

Van Pelt shook her head, eyeing her boyfriend in amusement. "Only Rigsby and his fat and carb bombs," she remarked dryly.

"Hey!" he protested, mouth full.

"If the cruller fits," said Van Pelt with a shrug, eyeing his once flat abs. Lots of downtime left lots of time for donuts.

Lisbon smiled, and, leaving them to their flirtatious bickering, opened the door to her private office.

Nothing new this morning. No new case. Each tick of her internal clock seemed to taunt her. No new case meant no new cash. The rent on this place was due next week, which meant dipping further into their dwindling reserves. She sat behind her desk, for the first time in a year wishing for the stack of paperwork she used to hate at the CBI. She tossed the entertainment section on her desk, Pierce Brosnan smiling up at her beguilingly.

And for a moment—_just a moment_—she allowed herself to dream…

What if they had an untainted name on their masthead? Someone beyond reproach, with a perfect record, brilliant at solving cases? Someone wealthy and charming, who inspired confidence in their clientele? She imagined for a moment a tall, dark-haired man with sparkling blue eyes, who filled out a suit like he was born in one. He would be the guiding light of their agency, a symbol of trust and integrity, their faithful leader.

She shook her head. That isn't exactly what she wanted. Not a leader. Not a boss. While Lisbon was good at following orders, she didn't know if she could trust anyone ever again to have that much power and control over her life, even a figment of her imagination. Then she remembered Remington Steele, and everything seemed to fall into place. It didn't have to be a _real_ boss, or even a real person. A man with all of those characteristics was nearly impossible to find, especially in this day and age. Realistically, such a man would more than likely be arrogant, egotistical, and controlling. No, all she really needed was a figurehead.

But what to call him?

She sat back in her chair, contemplating this dangerous idea taking shape in her mind. If she thought much about the logistics of such an endeavor, the risks involved, she would chicken out. She would flesh out the basic premise and present the idea to her team. Van Pelt was brilliant with a computer. She could plant any kind of information she wanted, make it look real, untraceable. They would artificially build up excitement and anticipation of their new leader.

It wouldn't be fraud, exactly, would it? Was there a _real _Betty Crocker? A _real _Mrs. Fields? A _real_ Colonel Sanders? _Okay, bad example_, she thought of the last. But there wasn't a Colonel anymore, was there? Why couldn't their namesake be a symbolic one too?

She steepled her fingers, elbows resting on the leather arms of her chair. But what to name him? She couldn't be as blatantly hokey as _Remington Steele_, named after a typewriter and a football team, explicitly designed to sound wealthy and powerful. No, her man's name should sound real, though distinctive, yet imply a sort of everyman. She looked around her office, but all she could come up with were names from furniture and office supplies.

She opened her desk drawer and withdrew the Sacramento telephone book. She set the heavy volume on her desk and opened it to the white pages. She perused a few pages, but nothing stood out to her, and she felt a little overwhelmed. Time was of the essence, and she didn't want to waste any of it over-thinking the details. She closed her eyes, laying her finger upon a thin page. She would leave it to fate. Wherever it stopped, she would live with that name, no matter what, she promised herself. She let her finger wander down the book, then stopped her movement arbitrarily. She opened her eyes. Her finger had landed on a first name: _Patrick._

_Patrick. _Hmmm…It sounded a bit Irish, but then, she was Irish too. The name was a common one, yet a bit old-fashioned and even whimsical. It could work, and besides, she was leaving it to fate, so she felt like this was the name she was meant to choose. Now, for a last name.

She turned a few pages and repeated the closed eye process, alighting on her creation's last name: _Jane_. Jane? She wasn't as pleased with that, because it sounded like a woman's name, and didn't call to mind a powerful man. She had heard of an actor with that last name, and maybe a rugby player, but no one overly familiar. But maybe that touch of uniqueness would make him seem more memorable, more real.

"Patrick Jane," she said aloud. "Patrick Jane Investigations. It has a nice ring to it."

The rest, as they say, was history.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They had worked the Harper case for two weeks, managing to put the senator off where Mr. Jane was concerned. Events in the Capitol had kept the senator from hounding them too much about their pretend boss's whereabouts. They'd been lucky, able to fall back on their old games of telephone tag and prestidigitation.

"Oh, I'm afraid you just missed him, sir."

"Mr. Jane just stepped out."

"Mr. Jane was called away on an emergency case. I'll be sure to pass on your message."

Until finally, they'd had this to say:

"Mr. Jane has been hard at work on your son's case, I can assure you sir. As a matter of fact, we just found evidence that should clear him!"

Then, as if really by magic (at least according to the senator) the information Lisbon and her team had painstakingly unearthed had paid off. Richard Harper, II had been exonerated, all charges dropped. There would be a press conference in two hours, and Patrick Jane Investigations was in panic mode. Senator Harper insisted Patrick Jane be present, to say a few words about his son's innocence, to answer questions as to how he had solved the case so quickly and so brilliantly.

He wouldn't take no for an answer.

Lisbon arrived at the diner before Rigsby and Van Pelt. It was pouring rain, and she had successfully avoided any deep puddles as she'd hurried to meet them, her pant suit staying relatively dry beneath her umbrella and light raincoat. The press was camped out outside their office building, waiting for the great Patrick Jane to arrive and give some off-the-cuff comment about the big news, so she'd told her team to meet her here. Just as she went to open the heavy door to the diner, a gust of wind caught her umbrella, turning it inside out while at the same time water from the roof splashed down on her head.

She gasped in surprise, sputtering and cussing as she worked to get control of her wayward umbrella. Finally, she collapsed the cursed contraption, and stepped inside the diner, mad as a wet cat. She angrily brushed the dripping hair out of her eyes, when suddenly she felt as if someone were watching her. Her gaze rested with embarrassment on the most beautiful man Lisbon had ever seen. His hair was blond and curly, his pale green eyes bright with humor, and his wide, white smile jolted her heart almost painfully as he noted her plight in amusement. She flushed and his grin widened, and she averted her eyes before rushing to her usual booth, which happened to be right next to his.

She took off her raincoat, balling it up and tossing it, her umbrella, and satchel on the bench seat before she slid in next to them, grabbing napkins from the dispenser on the table to mop up her face and hands.

She looked up to see that the stranger was still watching her. Normally, she'd say something short to dissuade such attention, but with this man she found herself at a loss.

"A bit damp out there," he observed, not unkindly.

"A little," she said, and felt her dimple appear before she could think better of it. She noticed that he'd been reading the paper, the same one she'd seen on her doorstep this morning, with the headline: "Local Detective Agency Works to Vindicate Senator's Son." There was an accompanying photograph of her and the team, hard at work around a conference table.

"I'm sure a good dousing is the last thing you need today."

She nodded. So he'd realized who she was. She resisted the instinct to fix her hair or check her face in her compact.

"Congratulations. I heard on the radio this morning your guy's off the hook."

"Yes. Thanks," she said.

The waitress came to ask Lisbon's order, but all she requested was black coffee. She paused before the sexy stranger's table, offering to refill his cup with hot water, taking away his empty plate with what looked like the remnants of scrambled eggs. His sunny smile made the waitress blush heartily. Lisbon was somehow comforted that she wasn't the only one enthralled by the man.

He drank hot tea, she noted. _Unusual for a man._

He caught her looking and gave her a little toast with his mug. "Nothing like hot tea on a nasty day like this. That song that says it never rains in California had obviously never been to Sacramento in the winter time."

"You forgot the rest of the song though," she found herself saying. His manner was so engaging she couldn't resist talking to him. "'It never rains in California… but it pours, man it pours.'"

"Ah, yes, that's right." He glanced out the window. "Indeed it does," he said wryly. She felt his soft eyes skate gently over her features, as if categorizing them one by one. He seemed to like what he saw, despite her bedraggled appearance. She blushed anew.

She wondered vaguely if her mascara was running down her cheeks, whether her naturally wavy hair had already begun to frizz as it dried, but she found that she wanted nothing more than to talk to this handsome man about the weather. For a moment, she'd totally forgotten the anxiety she'd been feeling when she'd first walked in. There was something oddly…_soothing_ about him.

Her coffee arrived and she glanced at her watch. Rigsby and Van Pelt were late. She hoped they hadn't been stuck in traffic, or cornered by the press. She took a tentative sip of the strong brew.

"Waiting for someone?" he asked politely.

"Yes; the rest of my team. Trying to avoid the press."

Why was she sharing this with him? What was he, some sort of woman whisperer? With that smile and those eyes, he could probably get a woman to tell him anything.

"I can imagine. Still, quite a coup for your little agency, or so says the papers."

"Yes. Our big break."

If he'd read the article, he'd have discovered that they were a young company, though they'd had recent high profile success, thanks to the indomitable Mr. Jane.

"This Mr. Jane guy-he sounds pretty amazing."

She tensed, but tried not to show how disconcerting it was that he seemed to be reading her mind, not to mention having zeroed in on the most sensitive subject possible right now.

"Oh, he is," she said, in a tone she hoped didn't sound too suspiciously evasive.

"Sort of a recluse though, eh? There weren't any pictures of him with the article. Is he afraid they'll steal his soul?"

She chuckled in spite of herself. "Something like that."

His eyes narrowed a fraction, and she felt suddenly uncomfortable, like he really was reading her mind, but then his expression smoothed over again, his friendly demeanor returning.

"Are you in need of some investigative work, Mr.-?"

"Not at the moment," he replied, not filling in the blank with his name.

Lisbon felt at a distinct advantage with him. After all, he knew _her_ name. For all she knew, he could be some sort of stalker or even a serial killer, scoping out his next victim. She'd certainly given him enough information, and combined with what she knew was in the newspaper article, it wouldn't be difficult at all to track her down. But her sixth sense wasn't screaming that he meant her harm, so she allowed herself to relax.

At that moment, she saw Rigsby and Van Pelt hurrying down the street, both wearing sensible rain gear. They came inside, shaking a little and pulling off their hats. They saw Lisbon and made a beeline toward her, then slid into the booth seat across the table from her, effectively blocking her view of her sexy new acquaintance.

"Well, good luck today," he said, rising to his feet. She admired his expensive three-piece suit, his perfect hair, his sparkling eyes. He bestowed upon her his glorious smile, bright enough that she had briefly forgotten the gloominess of the day.

"Thanks," she replied. "You too…with whatever it is you, uh, do."

She gave him one last dimpled smile, a little sad to see him go. It was the story of her life, really. Work always seemed to take precedent over a social life. Had she not been embroiled in a quagmire of her own making, she could have talked to him all day. With a small sigh of regret, she turned her attention to her team.

"Who was that?" whispered Van Pelt. "He was cute!"

"Yes, and I've no idea who he is," Lisbon said, with obvious regret.

Rigsby rolled his eyes at them both. "Can we please focus on what the hell we're going to do at the press conference? It's less than two hours away…"

As the trio became immersed in addressing the problem at hand, none of them realized that the stranger hadn't left at all, but had merely gone to the restroom. He returned to his booth, this time sitting in the seat directly behind Rigsby and Van Pelt. He sat back, picking up his teacup as he inclined his head to listen…

**TBC**

**A/N: First of all, thanks for taking a chance with another of my crazy ideas. Please let me know what you think. Oh, and if you're wondering about Cho, don't worry, he'll be along soon…**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Wow! Thanks for the warm welcome to this fic. I wondered if it was too different, too unbelievable to keep your interest. And I'm pleasantly surprised by all the "Remington Steele" fans. And it's fun to see your speculation about Jane's name here. I hope I keep you guessing. I'm behind as usual on reviews, but I'm so excited about continuing this fic for you, that I got this out to you the moment I finished the chapter. I promise to catch up on those wonderful reviews soon, but I assure you, your encouragement is greatly appreciated.

**Chapter 2**

Lisbon silently thanked God that the rain had finally stopped as she and her team climbed the wet stone steps of the county courthouse. Already, a podium had been set up on the highest landing, beneath the portico in case of rain, and the press had begun to trickle in, filling the steps beneath or adding their microphones to the cluster on the podium. Lisbon and her partners had been recognized immediately thanks to the morning's newspaper article, but they'd avoided answering questions, the state police ushering them inside the courthouse to await Senator Harper's and his son's arrival.

Their meeting in the diner had been fruitless, at least as far as deciding what to do about Patrick Jane. There was nothing for it but to excuse his absence yet again. They had thrown out the usual suggestion that they hire an actor to portray their mythical boss, all of them worrying such a person might make a mistake, or that it made them more open to blackmail. Also, they couldn't exactly afford to keep an actor on retainer, since they could barely pay their own salaries. Surely, in such a public forum, the senator wouldn't risk making a scene by pointing out the fact he'd never actually met the man responsible for exonerating his son. They all felt backed into a corner, understandably nervous about exposure.

Before they'd left the diner an hour later, Lisbon had spared a glance at the now empty booth beside them, feeling another pang of disappointment that the handsome stranger had left before she could find out his name. Not that she had time to pursue any romantic entanglements, but still, she might be able to live for years on the memories of one night with that deliciously intriguing man.

"I'll meet you at the courthouse," she'd told Rigsby and Van Pelt, before heading to the restroom to repair the damage the rain had caused. She used the facilities, looking in annoyance at her reflection while she washed her hands. Her hair, painstakingly straightened that morning, now fell in slightly frizzy waves about her angular face. Her eye makeup, she knew, was on a wadded up napkin in the booth she'd just vacated. With a sigh, she opened her satchel, withdrawing a small makeup bag that contained a comb, a powder compact, mascara and lipgloss. She used the meager contents as best she could, managing to make herself look somewhat less bedraggled, though certainly not as camera ready as she would have liked. There was no time to change her blouse, which was still damp around the collar, but her blazer jacket would hopefully hide that.

She wondered idly if the sexy stranger would watch her today on television, or see a picture of her standing by Harper in the evening edition of the paper. Would he smile in remembrance of their brief interlude? Laugh again fondly at her embarrassment with the umbrella? Would he wonder about her, think with regret about the attraction that had suffused the air between them? Lisbon sighed, tossing the makeup bag back into her satchel. Well, she thought, ready or not, it was time to meet her public once more. Her palms grew damp at the thought of the very public lies she was about to tell.

She'd never have dreamed six months ago that her plan would have worked so briliantly, yet have such perilous consequences. Living a lie had been easy when they'd been out of the spotlight. She feared now that Patrick Jane's continued absence would only lead to more questions, that it might compel some curious journalist to shine that spotlight more brightly on the identity of the illusive detective. Losing her job at the CBI would be nothing compared to the pillorying she'd take once the press got hold of the truth, and the lies she'd told to cover it up. As she left the diner, she prayed to God for mercy she didn't deserve, and for the acting chops she would need to get through the upcoming press conference unscathed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The senator's limousine had arrived at the rear entrance of the courthouse, at almost the last moment before the press conference had been scheduled to begin. He and his son had come in under heavy guard, along with a third man who was treated as respectfully as the senator himself. They were led into an elevator, then to the lobby of the courthouse, rendezvousing with the owners of Patrick Jane Investigations with little time to spare.

In the future, Teresa Lisbon would mark this as the day she'd received the greatest shock of her life, and it wasn't merely because for a second time that day she was confronted with a pair of laughing green eyes and a charming smile she could write sonnets to. No, it was because of what Senator Harper was saying. Something her befuddled mind belatedly processed as being how glad he was finally to meet the amazing Patrick Jane in the flesh.

The world seemed to both slow down and speed up at the same time, giving Lisbon time to notice that the handsome stranger from the diner had brushed his hair neatly back from his forehead and was now sporting an expertly knotted tie. She actually felt the color leaving her cheeks as her mind worked to catch up with what was happening. She was vaguely aware that her partners were standing stiffly beside her, clearly at a loss themselves, for there before them stood the manifestation of their greatest invention.

"What's the matter, Ms. Lisbon? You look as if you've seen a ghost," said the senator.

The stranger laughed, answering before she could open her mouth. "Oh, she had no idea I was coming," he said smoothly. "She was all set to make my excuses for me once again, but I realized that this was one occasion when I knew it was imperative that I make a personal appearance."

"Well, we're honored, aren't we, Junior," said the senator, clapping his young son gratefully on the shoulder.

"Yes, sir," said Richard Harper the younger with a shy smile.

"But, how-?" Lisbon began in bewilderment, her question directed at the impersonator.

The senator offered an explanation meant to satisfy her obvious bafflement, but in truth only engendered even more questions, at least for Lisbon and her team.

"When Mr. Jane called me from your offices thirty minutes ago, we were happy to swing by and give him a lift to the courthouse. "

"Our offices?" Lisbon managed dully.

"Yes. He said he meant to surprise everyone, choosing this occasion to make his public debut. He claims to be severely camera shy, but given his obvious charm and strength of personality, I find that hard to believe."

"I prefer to stay safely behind the scenes," replied the stranger modestly.

"Well, like I said in the car, you certainly performed a miracle for my son. We'll be forever in your debt, Mr. Jane."

"Oh," he said magnanimously, "most of the leg work was done by Ms. Lisbon and her team. They certainly deserve the lion's share of the credit."

Lisbon's lips tightened at that, and it was as if she'd suddenly awakened from her daze.

_Who the hell was this…this…__**conman?**_

"You are too kind, _Mr. Jane_," she said tightly, though she forced a smile upon her lips for the benefit of their audience.

But she and the stranger both understood that with those six words, she'd sealed their fate forever.

The conman's smile was slow and knowing, his eyes triumphantly conspiratorial.

Meanwhile, Rigsby was just now catching up to speed. "But he's not—" he began angrily, and Van Pelt, having caught on faster than either of them, surreptitiously jabbed him with her elbow.

"Senator," said one of his aides. "Are you ready sir?"

Harper chuckled. "The natives are getting restless, I imagine. Come, Mr. Jane, Ms. Lisbon. Let's meet our public."

The senator and his son led the way, while Rigsby fell back, whispering frantically to Van Pelt.

"Save it," Lisbon heard her say. "I'm sure the boss will take care of this."

Lisbon looked heavenward. If only she shared Van Pelt's faith.

"But I think he's wearing my tie!" exclaimed Rigsby in outrage.

"Shh!" Van Pelt hissed.

Lisbon felt the impersonator's hand alight audaciously upon her lower back, guiding her toward the door. She turned her head slightly to give the man a hard stare, her eyes full of questions, anger, and something akin to…_hurt_. He smiled gently at her, seemingly in complete understanding of her plight, until he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"You can repay me later," he said. Despite her churning emotions, she couldn't help her goosebumps at his warm breath.

"Oh, repayment is coming soon," she warned softly. "You can count on it—_Mr. Jane."_

Then they both pasted on smiles as they stood behind Senator Harper as he took to the podium.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The new Mr. Jane refused to answer any questions (for which Lisbon was extremely grateful). He merely publicly thanked Lisbon and her team and quickly turned the attention back on Harper and his son. As she stood by, listening and watching the imposter working the crowd so effortlessly, Lisbon's mind began to settle, and she started thinking like the seasoned detective she was. What was this guy's angle, anyway? He must have been spying on them, fairly recently too, given that he obviously knew there was no real Patrick Jane, and he knew details he wouldn't have found by only following the media coverage of the Harper case.

She didn't think for a moment that he was doing this for altruistic reasons. He was a conman, likely playing her since the moment he saw her enter the diner. He might have even been waiting for her there, she realized, suppressing a shiver at the thought. She'd never been someone's mark before, and it made her furious. Well, if blackmail was his intention, she would refuse to succumb to it. She'd rather lose her business than—well, that wasn't strictly true. Her heart sank into her stomach when she realized that she might just have to bite the bullet and pay for his silence, and hope that one payment would be enough.

After the press conference was over, the Harpers sent on their way, Lisbon turned to Rigsby and Van Pelt as they once again stood in the courthouse lobby.

"I'll see you back at the office," she said firmly, waylaying the tall detective before he could do violence to "Mr. Jane," who waited with amused patience for the promised comeuppance.

"I don't think you should be alone with him," Rigsby said, eyes on the imposter.

"We're in a public building; cops are everywhere. I feel safer here."

Rigbsy took a step menacingly closer in an effort to intimidate the much shorter man. "I have several guns, whoever you are, and if you so much as look at her sideways, I'll hunt you down like a dog."

Rigsby looked up to notice a few of the lingering paparazzi eyeing them speculatively, and he smiled broadly, slapping "Mr. Jane's" back in pretend affection.

"She's safe with me, Mr. Rigsby," the conman commented under his breath, his grin never wavering. "I intended no harm to anyone, I swear."

"Let's go," whispered Van Pelt, taking her boyfriend's arm, "before we cause a scene."

"Good-bye," Lisbon and "Mr. Jane" called cheerily as the other two reluctantly left them.

"They have quite the loyal streak where you're concerned," the conman commented.

"Save it," snapped Lisbon. "Come with me—this way."

She led him down a long marble hall, stopping before an empty conference room. She tried the windowed door, and, finding it unlocked, entered and switched on the light.

"Well, this is cozy—" began the blond, looking around at the wood paneled room and heavy mahogany furniture in appreciation. Then his eyes met hers with an appreciation of a much different kind. But Lisbon was having none of his fake charm.

"Cut the crap and tell me just who the hell you are and what the hell you want from us."

"Such language," he tsked. "Especially directed toward the man who just saved your hide."

He leaned casually against the table, both hands resting behind him for support.

She stalked toward him angrily. "I don't recall asking for your help, and when the _real_ Patrick Jane gets here—"

"Now who's spouting crap," he said benignly. "Look, I admit to eavesdropping on your conversation at the diner, but I also am pretty good at reading people—"

"_And_ newspapers," she added, eyes narrowing darkly.

"Yes, those too," he said with a grin. "But you, Ms. Lisbon, exhibited all the classic characteristics of a woman with a big secret, and I didn't think it was something only your hairdresser would know. I was curious, so I listened in, and, I must say, I became most sympathetic to your plight. While you were whispering to your team, I snuck out of the diner through the alley door and went to your office building."

"I don't know what you _think_ you know, buster, but—wait—did you break _into_ my office?" Her eyes rested on his tie suspiciously. He hadn't been wearing one earlier, in the diner.

He shrugged unapologetically. "I had to be sure my hunch was right."

"If anything is missing from my office, I'll have you in a jail cell faster than you can say—"

"Patrick Jane?" he suggested dryly. That shut her up for a moment. "It seems to me, that you, my dear, would be in the cell right next to mine for a little thing the cops like to call fraud. We both know there's no Patrick Jane. Now, why don't we quit with the grandstanding and come to some mutually beneficial terms…"

"So now you're blackmailing me? You're out of your ever-loving mind. The answer is no. More than that—_hell no_!"

He grinned. "You know, I still have Senator Harper's private number. I wonder what he'd say if he found out he was duped by an ex-CBI agent with a penchant for making up stories…"

She froze. Could he know about her cover-up for Sam Bosco too? How long had he been stalking her? Who was he working for?

"Who sent you?" she asked, as the cold hand of fear seemed to settle on her shoulder.

The man sat up straighter, his expression becoming instantly sober. "What else are you hiding, Teresa?" he asked softly. When her face turned to stone, he backed off a bit, hating to see her looking so frightened of him. "No one sent me," he said soothingly. "I'm here totally of my own accord. I am what you might call an _opportunist. _I don't intend to harm anyone, like I told your Mr. Rigsby. Earnest fellow, isn't he though?"

She shook her head, a bit dazed by his quick changes of subject. He was trying to keep her off her game, keep her off balance, but she was determined not to be swayed from the topic by either his verbal manipulation or his incredible good looks.

"Who _are _you?" she asked again.

"Well, as of today, I'm Patrick Jane."

She frowned. "Just tell me what you want so you can get the hell out of Sacramento."

He considered her a moment. She was through playing games with him, and despite his enjoyment of watching the range of emotions flitting across her adorable face, it was clearly time to close the deal.

"I heard you and your lovely cohorts talking about your fee for this case being fifty thousand dollars. That should suffice."

She gasped. "Please—we need that money or we're going to lose the agency. How about five thousand? That's pretty damn good for fifteen minutes of work."

The man shook his head. "The entire fifty thousand, or my next call after the senator is to the local news."

She didn't think he was bluffing, but she couldn't be sure.

He could almost see her nimble mind working as she desperately tried to come up with some way to get out of the corner he'd put her in, and he almost felt sorry for her. He knew her business was failing, but he was pretty well broke himself. He didn't even have enough money for a motel room once the week was up. She was a smart woman; she'd bounce back, and the publicity from the Harper case would bring in the big fish, of that he had no doubt. In a couple of months, fifty thousand would seem as nothing.

"I'm calling your bluff, Mr. Whoever-you-are. Go ahead. Call the senator. After the miracle we pulled off for him, he'll pay you off himself to keep from looking like a fool in the press."

She was very satisfied with herself, and well she should be, thought the man. Not many men could one-up him, let alone a sprite of a woman who'd dug herself into a very big hole.

"You really want to test that theory of yours?" he asked, pulling out his cell phone.

"Go for it," she said, raising her chin with debatable confidence. "I'll have you in the slammer for breaking and entering and attempted blackmail by the end of the day."

They played a game of mental chicken for a moment, before the man shrugged and pressed a button on his phone. She lasted all of two rings.

"Stop!"

He immediately terminated the call, which was actually to the Chinese place across the street from his dumpy motel.

"Okay, I'll pay you the fifty thousand, but we haven't even sent them a bill yet. It might take a couple of weeks to get paid. And I don't have that kind of money laying around under my mattress…"

He regarded her a moment, wondering if he could trust her any more than she could trust him. He hadn't been lying about being a good judge of people. She was a terrible liar, at least to someone like him with an eye trained for that kind of thing. It was a wonder she'd been able to pull off this Patrick Jane farce for this long.

_She was telling the truth_, he realized with some surprise. _Huh. She fully intends to honor her agreement. What do ya know? Honor among thieves, _he thought ironically.

At least, that was her intention now. Nothing to say Little Miss Pants-On-Fire might not come up with some double-cross by tomorrow.

"Okay," he agreed. "I'll give you two weeks. In the meantime, I intend to come in to work with you every day, and fully assume my role as Patrick Jane. This is my insurance policy, my way to monitor whether you are living up to our agreement. Any sign you're trying to pull one over on me, and I spill the beans. Deal?"

He stood to hold out his hand, attempting to seal their bargain.

Lisbon's mind was racing. What would Rigsby and Van Pelt say to this? How would she explain that this stranger had manipulated her into handing over their entire profit? But what choice did she have, in this moment?

"As long as you don't interfere in our work, you can come to the office. If anyone wants to meet the great Mr. Jane, you'll put on the performance of your life, understand?"

"Perfectly. Now, Ms. Lisbon, do we have a deal or not?"

She sighed, her face falling in defeat.

"Deal, I guess."

She stuck out her cold hand, and found it deliciously enveloped in his much warmer one. A jolt of awareness sparked through them both, and the man's eyes darkened in a very exciting way. She gave a little gasp of surprise, dropping his hand like it was on fire. He would have laughed at her reaction, except that he found he was slightly dazed himself.

"But what do I call you?" she asked breathlessly, trying to cover up the effect of his touch, while trying once more to learn his true identity.

"Mr. Jane will do. Just to get you used to the idea."

She gave him a look of annoyance. "You won't be around long enough to get used to anything, _Mr. Jane_."

She turned her back to walk toward the door of the conference room, and as he watched the way her wavy hair bounced with each determined step, accompanied by the gentle sway of her softly curved hips, he decided that he could definitely get _very_ used to some things, if he wasn't too careful…

**A/N: So, the deal has been struck! Thanks again for reading. Please log in and tell me what you think. **

**I've also posted a tag for this week's episode, and I have to say, writing this AU is very therapeutic and hopefully will get me through all the changes to come on the show. We've got to pull together, Mentalistas, and keep supporting the show in any way we can!**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers, and I'd like you _all _to know I am so thankful for your support of my writing. I do it for you! :)

**Chapter 3**

She couldn't take money away from Rigsby and Grace, that was all there was to it, Lisbon decided. She was controlling partner in the agency, so she would get half of the twenty-five thousand, leaving the balance for them. She would give them their due, and between now and then, beg, borrow (but not steal) the other twenty-five thousand to pay off her blackmailer. It would put her deeper in the hole, of course, but there was nothing for it, and hopefully more cases would come after the Harper success anyway. She would make _Mr. Jane_ keep their deal from her partners, and maybe her twenty-five thousand would end up being enough to forestall his greed. She had a couple of weeks' grace, so perhaps a better solution would emerge in the meantime.

When she arrived at the office building the next morning, there were still a few members of the press hoping for a follow-up statement. She was shocked to say the least when she saw that they were already crowded around the mysterious Mr. Jane.

"…deductive reasoning, folks," he was saying, a huge smile charming his audience. "Any of you guys read _Sherlock Holmes_?"

"Oh, is he your idol, Mr. Jane?" asked one female journalist, eyeing the man as if he were a box of Godiva.

"Not my idol, per se," he hedged. "Just someone whose innovative thinking has always inspired me. But hey, look who's arrived!" He nodded toward Lisbon, who shot him a startled look before forcing herself to smile. "It's true what they say—behind every great man, etcetera, etcetera."

The reporters chuckled, and Mr. Jane waited for Lisbon to join him near the lobby door. He dropped a casual arm around her stiffened shoulders. The woman reporter's smile was positively feline.

"Ms. Lisbon, why did you wait so long before introducing Mr. Jane to the world?"

"Oh, I didn't have much of a choice in the matter," she said, trying to avoid the blue-green eyes she knew must be lit with amusement. "Mr. Jane never does anything until he's ready. I suppose that, given the importance of this case, he was finally ready."

"Tell us, Ms. Lisbon, what's the nature of your relationship with Mr. Jane? Are you two an item? The public wants to know." It was another question from the chocolate lover.

"Well—" began Jane.

"Certainly not!" finished Lisbon.

"Ms. Lisbon and I prefer to keep the personal details of our relationship private," Jane amended diplomatically. "I'm afraid the public will just have to continue to wonder…"

"Mr. Jane and I really need to get to work. Thanks for the coverage, folks." And she grabbed her blackmailer's arm tightly, pulling him toward the office building's lobby door while he spouted off a few last sage remarks to the press.

"How dare you speak to them without me?" she hissed the moment the door closed behind them.

"Hey, I was just coming in to work, and they waylaid me. What was I supposed to do?"

"Say _no comment_ and get your ass inside," she countered in annoyance. They went to the ancient elevator and Lisbon pressed the call button.

"Look, I promised you the performance of my life, remember? Have you seen the paper this morning? Watched the local news? Your agency is a hit, thanks to me."

"What?" she said in disbelief as they entered the elevator. She pressed the button for the third floor and confronted him angrily. "My agency is a hit because of mine and my team's hard work. You had nothing to do with it."

But she knew that wasn't exactly true. His handsome face had lent a definite cache to their burgeoning agency, and as much as she hated how important such things were to their image, his appearance would likely bring in some major new clients. If she were honest with herself, this is what she'd wanted from the beginning, wasn't it? She wouldn't admit that to him anytime soon, however. She could see him milking this cash cow for years to come if she didn't disavow him his notion of his own importance.

"Whatever you say, Boss," he said knowingly, and she realized there would be no pulling the wool over this one's eyes. He was as sharp as they came, and she'd do well to remember that.

"Look," she said in the few moments they had until they met with Rigsby and Van Pelt. "I have a favor to ask of you. Please don't tell my people how much I'm paying you off. I really don't want them to know that you're blackmailing me. For one thing, Rigsby would likely kick your ass and then end up in jail for it, or do something drastic like call the police. You wouldn't want either of those things to happen, would you?"

"No," he said. "And neither would you, for I'd certainly take you down with me either way, remember?"

She frowned. "How could I possibly forget?"

"So what do we tell them then?"

"That I'm hiring you as the temporary face of Patrick Jane Investigations. They'll understand that it is a necessary evil now, under the circumstances. They'll think you're a con artist, an opportunist, but at least they won't try to kill you in your sleep for a blackmailer."

His brow furrowed just as the doors slid open, but he didn't comment.

"Are we agreed?" she asked.

"Certainly," he said, and then she felt his warm breath near her ear. "But I warn you, Ms. Lisbon; don't try to kid a kidder. It won't turn out well for either of us."

She nodded and Lisbon pushed open the glass door to the agency offices.

"Wow!" said Van Pelt the moment she caught sight of Lisbon. "Did you see the news this morning?"

"Yes," she replied. "The free publicity is a definite plus."

"What's _he_ doing here?" asked Rigsby menacingly, coming to stand protectively behind his girlfriend.

Lisbon told them her fake plan, assuring them that his fee would come from her share of Harper's compensation. "And it'll just be for a little while," she told them. "Just for appearance's sake. Then the illusive Mr. Jane will fade back into the woodwork."

"Where he belongs," added Rigsby, his words clearly meant for Mr. Jane. "Just stay the hell out of the way, okay?"

"Look, Mr. Rigsby, I apologize for interfering as I did, but I saw that you guys were in trouble, so I thought I might be of some assistance."

"Yeah, you're a real hero. We don't know you from Adam. You could be a serial killer or something, but at the very least, you're a swindler."

Mr. Jane raised an ironic eyebrow. "Said the pot to the kettle…"

Van Pelt had to use her tall frame to hold Rigbsy back.

"Enough!" said Lisbon testily. "We're stuck with each other for the time being, until the Harper story is old news. I don't want to worry about a brawl breaking out every time my back is turned, understand?"

"Yes, Boss," said Rigsby contritely.

The man called Jane grinned saucily. "Yes, Boss," he echoed.

Lisbon turned on him. "That goes double for you, Mystery Man," she said. "Don't bait the bear, or this deal is off."

"Yes, ma'am," he amended, but his eyes still sparkled with mirth, especially since they both knew she was bluffing. Lisbon sighed, looking heavenward. She felt oddly like she was refereeing her two youngest brothers, who were always picking at each other over something.

"When's our first appointment?"

Van Pelt glanced at the digital clock on the front desk. "In thirty minutes."

"Call me when they get here, please," Lisbon instructed, heading for the break room.

"I'm not a bear," Rigsby muttered to Van Pelt when Lisbon was out of earshot.

She patted his cheek consolingly. "I know you're not, Dear."

Lisbon silently blessed Grace for having put on a fresh pot already in the small break room, and as she poured herself a cup, she jumped when she realized that her blackmailer had followed her.

"You got any tea?"

"Dammit," she cursed under her breath, as hot coffee splashed on her hand. She ran it under the cold water for a minute.

"Maybe. Help yourself," she bit out impolitely.

Undaunted, he searched the cupboards until he found a box of herbal tea bags and an electric teapot. He rinsed it out, filled it, and plugged it in, then he went to the refrigerator for milk. She leaned against the counter and watched in fascination as he fixed his tea, like it was some sort of sacred ceremony or something.

He took his first sip with great appreciation.

"If you're ready," she said dryly, "come with me. You can use the extra office next to mine."

To get there, they had to walk past the room Lisbon normally used, which was actually meant to be their namesake's office, _Patrick Jane_ engraved on a gold plaque on the closed door. Jane stopped suddenly, making her slam back against him like he'd been a recalcitrant dog on her leash.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, pointing to the plaque. "I do believe _this_ is my office."

"Not on your life, Mister Grifter."

Before she could stop him, however, he'd walked to the door and turned the knob. He smiled when he beheld the office's beautiful view of downtown Sacramento, the Tower Bridge glinting in the morning sun. He looked suitably impressed with the large mahogany desk and matching chairs too, but he bypassed those and went straight for the long, leather couch against the wall. He put his teacup and saucer on the side table and sat down, bouncing up and down experimentally.

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about," he said with a grin.

"This is _my_ office," she protested from the doorway. "You're just a temporary fixture here, remember? If you need a place to hang your hat, it'll have to be in the next office over."

"Nah, this'll do. Love this couch."

He lay down on the soft leather, his blond head on one padded armrest, and swung his feet up to rest on the cushion. Lisbon frowned to see his scuffed brown shoes on her pristine couch.

"Awww," he said on a sigh. He closed his eyes happily.

"Comfy? Can I get you anything? A pillow? Blanket? Freshly baked scone?" No way he could have missed her sarcasm, but he chose to ignore it all the same.

"You know, a blanket _would _be nice. I'll pass on the scone, but thank you, Teresa."

She stared at him, in disbelief at his audacity, then practically marched to _her_ desk and sat heavily in _her_ comfortable chair, immediately swiveling it from side to side in frustration at his invasion of her private space.

"You're something else," she muttered. "And I'm not here to cater to your comfort."

He refused to acknowledge her agitation with him, yet she saw the smile spread across his face before he proceeded to doze. Twenty minutes later, she was delighted when the intercom at her desk buzzed loudly, making him jerk awake in startle.

"Boss, your nine o'clock is here," announced Van Pelt.

"Thanks, Grace. Please show her in." She looked over at her uninvited guest. "Wake up, _Mr. Jane_. It's show time."

He was on his feet immediately, alert as a cat, straightening his three-piece suit and patting down his hair. She blinked. _How could someone look so perfect with such ease?_

"Look," she rushed to say. "Since you're in here, I expect you to stand back and look powerful, but leave the talking to me, got it?"

"Strong, silent type," he said with a grin. "Got it."

He moved, however, toward the large desk, making himself at home in the chair she'd just abandoned.

"Mr. Jane would be in _his_ chair, wouldn't he? His lackey uh, wouldn't." He inclined his head meaningfully toward the other side of the desk with a cheeky grin.

Not for the first time, she had the compelling desire to sock him in the nose, but she saw his point and hastily took her place, just in time for their prospective client to arrive, Van Pelt and Rigsby in tow.

"Mrs. Cleveland," Lisbon said amiably, going to meet her and take the expensively dressed old woman's hand. "It's so very nice to meet you. I'm Teresa Lisbon, and this is, uh, Patrick Jane."

Jane rose from his borrowed throne and went round to greet her, taking her bony hand in one of his graceful ones and covering it with the other. He looked warmly into her rheumy gray eyes, and Lisbon had to force herself not to roll her own at the way the old dame actually blushed at his charming attention.

"A true pleasure," said Jane. He led her to one of the chairs in front of the desk and settled her there gently.

"Thank you, young man," she said, her voice stronger than expected. It was then that Lisbon noticed that the bag Rigsby was carrying for the lady wasn't just an oversized handbag. It was a dog carrier, and peaking its head out of the top was a small ball of white fur, the creature's eyes hidden somewhere beneath it. Rigsby set the carrier at the lady's feet, and Jane immediately squatted down to pet the thing.

"What a cute little doggy," he cooed, somehow finding the animal's ears to give them a good scratch. "Oh, does that feel good?" It preened under his attention, making a little growling noise of pure ecstasy.

Mrs. Cleveland laughed. "That's my little Precious," she said. "But she never lets anyone pet her other than me. You must have the magic touch."

Jane looked up at her with his trademark sparkle. "Never met a dog or a woman who didn't like a good petting," he teased.

Van Pelt barely contained an amused snort, but she sobered immediately when Lisbon shot her a look of betrayal. Mr. Jane was not to be indulged in this way.

Mrs. Cleveland chuckled heartily. "You're a wise one too, Mr. Jane."

"Call me Patrick, please."

"She's a very sweet dog," interrupted Lisbon. "But I'm sure your time is valuable, Mrs. Cleveland. What can we do for you?"

Lisbon leaned against the desk before their client, and, much to her consternation, Jane mimicked her pose right beside her, while Rigsby and Van Pelt took the couch, settling in to listen.

"It's my husband," she began. "He's missing."

"How terrible," said Lisbon sincerely, imagining an old man wandering the streets, lost and alone. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"Sixty-five years ago."

The silence was deafening as the listeners searched for meaning behind her simple words.

"_Sixty-five_?" Lisbon repeated lamely. Maybe she hadn't heard correctly.

"Did you go to the police at the time," asked Jane, obviously taking her seriously when Lisbon was considering shutting the whole interview down and sending the poor, senile thing on her way.

"Yes, of course. He went off to work that morning—he ran his daddy's store over on D street—and never returned. No one at the store claims to have seen him that day, but his car was found in the lot. The police found no signs of foul play, eventually ruling that it was abandonment."

She sniffled a bit, and Jane reached into his pocket for an old-fashioned handkerchief. Mrs. Cleveland took it gratefully, dabbing her eyes and nose delicately.

"That must have been awful," said Van Pelt from the couch. "What did you do then?"

"When the police gave up, I hired private detectives, but all they could find was a witness who saw Derek getting into a blue car with a woman and speeding off toward the Capitol."

"I'm sorry to have to ask this," began Lisbon, "but were there any indications that he might have been—"

"Having an affair?" the old woman finished. "No. Absolutely not. Derek loved me. He loved his family's business. We had only been married a year, and I was expecting our first child. He wouldn't have left me—left _us_ like that, I know it in my soul."

Jane stared at her a moment, one finger resting on his lips thoughtfully.

"A woman's intuition is usually right about these things," he said. "What do _you_ think happened to Derek?"

Lisbon frowned at his interference.

"Well, I think he was kidnapped, probably in repayment for something his father had done. John Cleveland dealt with gangsters, I'm sure of it. The store was just one of his businesses—the others he didn't talk about."

"Did the police explore that angle?" asked Rigsby.

"I told them about it, but I think my father-in-law fixed it so the investigation fizzled out. He took care of my son and I financially, and when John eventually died, we inherited everything. I had accountants pour over his books and private papers after his death, trying to find clues or evidence from way back then, but everything had been covered up neatly, with no indication of his questionable past, no new information about what might have happened to Derek."

"And you never re-married?" asked Lisbon.

"No," she said sadly. "When you find your perfect match, it's hard to accept second best."

Jane nodded in understanding, and Lisbon narrowed her eyes. He seemed to be commiserating silently with Mrs. Cleveland, an unspoken, heartfelt empathy. Maybe this was a clue to the other mystery of the day, that involving Jane's true identity.

"You'd like us to find out what happened to him," stated Jane. "Why now, though Mrs. Cleveland? Why _us_?"

"Because of _you_, Patrick," she said, her eyes watering anew. "When I saw you on the television yesterday, I nearly had a heart attack. You could have been his twin you know. Same curly hair, same devil in your eyes. Beautiful and confident, just like my Derek. And the fact that you are this famous detective—why, it was like a sign from God, or maybe from Derek himself, sending you to help me find out what happened to him. I don't have long on this world, Patrick, but I would like to spend the rest of my days here at peace. I've outlived my son, so I am alone, with only my memories and my Precious now. Please, Patrick," she said, reaching for his hands once more. "Please help me find some peace."

"Why, of course we will," said Jane soothingly, gently squeezing her thin hands.

"Uh, Mr. Jane," bit out Lisbon with mock politeness. "May we have a word?"

"Certainly, Ms. Lisbon," he said, his eyes still on a grateful Mrs. Cleveland.

"Outside…_please_."

"If you'll excuse us, Mrs.—"

"Please call me Kristina. It's been so long since a handsome young man called me by my given name."

"Kristina," Jane amended, bringing one of her thin hands to his lips. "One moment while I confer with my team."

The four of them traipsed out to the hall, shutting the door quietly behind them before Lisbon turned on Jane, fire in her eyes.

"You had no right to accept that case without our input," she hissed. "Despite appearances, you have no say in this company's business!"

"Yeah," whispered Rigsby. "Besides, she's just a senile old woman who's probably built this up in her mind as some grand intrigue, forgetting her husband probably ran off with the local trollop. A total waste of our time, and an unkindness to her, getting her hopes up this way."

"This gives new meaning to the term, cold case," said Lisbon. "Any evidence of what happened to her husband is probably cold in the ground along with him."

"You don't know that," said Van Pelt. "Sorry, Boss, but isn't there a possibility he could still be alive?"

"Doubtful," said Lisbon. "I know it sounds harsh, but I wouldn't even know where to begin to solve this thing. The one witness is likely dead, or at best, her memory is unreliable. Any police officers working on the case are long gone, I'm sure. I'd feel like a first class heel, taking an elderly lady's money like that."

"Oh, she can afford it, trust me," said Van Pelt.

They all looked at her with renewed interest. "You've never heard of Cleveland's Department Store?"

Lisbon's eyes grew wide. "You're kidding. _The_ Cleveland's? The one downtown? That's been there practically since statehood. Only the wealthiest in this city can even afford to go into that place. It's like the Harrod's of Sacramento. I can't believe I didn't put two and two together."

"Yep, that's it," said Van Pelt. "And besides, she's such a sweet old lady. Can't we try and see if we can help her? I mean, what could it really hurt?"

Jane had remained uncharacteristically silent, and Lisbon found herself looking to him for his input-why, she did not know.

"She needs closure," he said simply.

Lisbon certainly wished she had the time to pursue this line of questioning. In his eyes there had been a glimmer of something intriguingly…blank.

"Come on, Boss," said Van Pelt. "I can do a lot of the research online, then Wayne and I can do most of the legwork. We could put in a few days, see what happens."

"She's really loaded?" asked Rigsby, the promise of a big payoff changing his tune.

"To the gills," said Van Pelt.

Lisbon shook her head and sighed. "Okay. We give it three days, then we don't take any more of her money, tell her we came up empty. She'll be disappointed, but sometimes we never get the answers we want in life. Just a sad fact."

She looked at Jane sidelong to see if she could get a rise out of him, but he merely shrugged. "I'll give her the good news, then."

Jane opened the door and stepped inside, letting Mrs. Cleveland know his team was on the job, and that he would oversee it personally.

She patted Jane's cheek almost affectionately as he walked her to her driver, who had been waiting outside the outside office door to escort her back down to her car. "You could be his brother," she reiterated in wonder. "So beautiful."

"I wish that I were," he said, his grin the most genuine Lisbon had seen on his face.

Rigsby handed over the dog, who gave him a warning growl. He stepped back from the animal gingerly, to find Jane smiling in amusement.

"We'll get right on this, Boss," said Rigsby, ignoring him.

"Good. Put our other appointments on hold for a few days. Grace, try to find out the last known address of that witness, and I'll go and see what I can find out."

Rigsby and Van Pelt left Lisbon and Jane alone again in the large office. Jane strode immediately back to the couch, assuming the prone position he'd held earlier.

"I'm really surprised you wanted to help her," said Lisbon.

"Why? Because a blackmailing conman couldn't possibly have a heart?"

"Well, _that_…and she seemed to have gotten to you on some deep, personal level. I never would have pegged you as the sentimental type."

"It's all in the game," said Jane, opening one eye to look at her. "Glad to know I was so convincing. Never forget whom you're dealing with though, Teresa."

Lisbon sensed this was a warning, designed to keep her in line behind his threats, but she was no longer afraid of him. He would keep his word, of that she was sure.

"That's the trouble, Mr. Jane. I have no idea _who_ the hell you are, remember?"

Both his eyes were closed now, and he chose not to respond to her (mostly) rhetorical question. She watched him thoughtfully a moment, and the detective in her began working overtime. While she had him within her sights, she would make it her mission to discover his true identity. Sure, he would still be able to hold her own deceptions over her head, but she had to know what kind of man could blackmail one woman and be heartbreakingly kind to another. He was a mystery man, in more ways than one.

And Lisbon had always liked solving mysteries.

Moving as quietly as she could, she walked over to his teacup, its contents long grown cold. She picked up the saucer from the bottom, balancing it carefully as she went out of her office and into the break room. She carefully poured out the leftover tea, then zipped cup and saucer into a plastic bag. She brought this over to Van Pelt, who was already busy on her computer. Rigsby had gone to the Sacramento PD, hoping to get a look into their archives.

"Have a messenger take this to Cho at the CBI," Lisbon whispered, glancing at the open door to her office. "I want to know who our new addition really is."

The redhead nodded, following her gaze. "You think he's done this kind of thing before?"

Her mouth drew into a determined line. "No doubt in my mind…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Later, the man currently known as Patrick Jane lay on Teresa Lisbon's office couch, feigning sleep. He could hear her rustling papers around and the sound was somehow comforting. The sounds of the industrious—he hadn't been witness to too much of that in his life.

He was mostly familiar with musical carnival noises, the excited hum of the track, the cacophony of Las Vegas, or the roar of the ocean. Good, honest work was something of a novelty, and he found it oddly soothing. As usual, he tamped down the feelings of guilt he had for his current mark. Normally he could separate his work from his emotions, but something about Teresa Lisbon had drawn him in, and he knew he would have a more difficult time maintaining this balancing act.

There was the money to look forward to, he reminded himself. His coffers needed refilling, and this gig would set him up for awhile, until the next time he had to change his name. Mostly it was ennui that drove him. A restlessness would overtake him and he'd find himself suddenly pulling up stakes and assuming another role. Sometimes it would be a fake psychic. Sometimes a professional gambler. Sometimes he'd insinuate himself into the lives of vulnerable women, treat them like queens, accept their money, and leave them with a smile. He liked that con least of all, not just because of the gigolo connotations, but because it took a lot out of him to fake that kind of emotion, to be so intimate with someone and yet keep himself at an emotional distance. It was self-preservation, of course. He couldn't fall in love, because that would mean that he'd become the mark, himself. He didn't do heartbreak well; he'd found that out the hard way.

Deep down he was a romantic, and he believed that somewhere out there was the right woman for him. He thought he'd found her once, but he'd let her slip through his fingers, and now she was lost to him forever. That was why the instant attraction he'd felt for Teresa Lisbon was so terrifying. If only he hadn't heard the conversation in the diner, he might have seduced her and gotten her out of his system then and there. Part of him sincerely regretted that happenstance, but the call of easy money combined with his love of theatre was too tempting to pass up, so he'd put his attraction on the back burner and stepped into the role of a lifetime.

He didn't expect to be so…drawn in. Mysteries intrigued him, and he wasn't just thinking of Mrs. Cleveland's long lost husband. Teresa Lisbon was in some ways an open book; in others, a challenging enigma. What made her so desperate to go against her basic character and create such a damning lie? What had she done in the past to put herself in such dire straits? She belonged in an important leadership position, somewhere in civil service, not hanging on by a financial thread at the head of a struggling detective agency.

Teresa Lisbon was a mystery all right.

And the man they called Patrick Jane loved solving mysteries.

**A/N: Yes, this is a very different Jane, but one in a universe with no Red John, no wedding ring. He still has a complicated past, which I'll delve into further as this story goes on. I hope you are enjoying it. Please log in and let me know what you think. Also, please check out my fic with Nerwen Aldarion, another AU called "Double Talk." It's a lot of fun.**


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So, I'm home for a snow day (yay!) and here is the result. I hope this warms you up a bit, no matter where you are…

**Chapter 4**

Van Pelt tapped lightly on Lisbon's door and pushed it open. Lisbon looked up from her computer.

"Did you find anything?" she asked.

On the couch, Jane awoke and sat up, stretching tiredly, then grinning his general happiness with the current state of things.

"Yeah," said Van Pelt. "Wayne called and found out the witness is still alive. She's in a nursing home here in Sacramento. Samantha Hawkins."

"Great. Text me the address."

She rose, opening a desk drawer and retrieving her keys and handbag. She was halfway out the door before she sensed her shadow following her again. She stopped and turned slowly around. Jane was closer than she thought, and she took a few steps back.

"Where do you think _you're_ going?"

"Mrs. Cleveland expects The Great Patrick Jane to see to her case personally, and so he shall."

"You're nota trained detective," she pointed out.

"Aw, but would you rather me hang around your office all day long, where you can't keep an eye on me? I might get bored and start rifling through your desk drawers, or maybe snoop through your personal files…"

She held up her hands in mock surrender. "Fine. But this time, let me do the talking. I probably wouldn't even have accepted this case if you hadn't opened your big mouth."

He shrugged, then held the outer office door open for her. "Consider this your good deed for the year. Helping an old woman find her long lost love-how beautiful is that."

Her only comment was a skeptical grunt.

In the parking garage, Lisbon stopped before a classic 1969 Mustang, dark blue, its convertible top closed.

"Nice," he said, clearly impressed. "I had pictured you owning just such a car."

She unlocked the doors and they both slid into the white leather interior. "What, you're a psychic now?"

"Not anymore," he said mysteriously.

"How could you possibly know what kind of car I'd have?" she asked, her natural curiosity aroused. She started the engine and it purred to life, then she pulled out into the bright sunlight of the late morning, expertly maneuvering through downtown traffic on the way to the freeway.

"Hmm…what else would a former tomboy growing up with three brothers choose but the quintessential American car? You want everyone to respect your image of a strong, dependable woman, but in your heart you're a free spirit, craving the independence and power you feel on the open road, the wind in your hair, the—"

"All right, enough with the commercial announcement. And you're no psychic. You saw the picture of my brothers on my desk, and you probably saw the Mustang key on my key ring."

"Okay, you caught me," he said, not in the least bit abashed by it. "But it's true what they say: people tend to drive cars and own pets as a reflection of their true personalities."

"Oh?" she said skeptically. "So that means you must drive an Edsel then."

"Ouch," he said, but he was grinning. "You are completely wrong, however."

"What kind of car _do_ you drive?"

"Wild horses couldn't drag it out of me." Of course, she realized that such a thing as the type of car he drove could be a clue to his true identity. "And by the way, don't expect to find any damning evidence from my teacup."

Her grip tightened imperceptibly on the steering wheel. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't ever bother lying to me, Teresa," he said good-naturedly. "I'm sure it's already halfway to a lab by now. I'll save you the trouble, though. I've never been arrested, never even had a parking ticket. So, investigate away."

"If that's the case, what's the harm in telling me your real name?"

"Because after you pay me, I'll be out of your life forever. I'll melt into the shadows and disappear, like I was never even here."

"Aw," she said. "Like the Lone Ranger, or maybe Jack the Ripper."

He chuckled. "Something like that."

"How about outstanding arrest warrants?" she asked slyly.

"No comment."

"Last known address?"

"I own no real estate—well, nothing you could possibly trace back to me, anyway. As much as this will pain your inquiring mind, Ms. Lisbon, I guess I'll have to just remain an unsolved mystery."

She was silent a few moments, then: "Not even a hint?"

"Nope. Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Tit for tat?" he suggested.

"What?"

"You know, you show me yours…?"

He looked at her sidelong, and she turned to meet his gaze, flushing already because she had a feeling she knew what he was about to ask.

"Why aren't you with the CBI anymore?"

The recent newspaper articles profiling her detective agency had mentioned her previous employment, so there was nothing psychic about this supposition either. She swallowed hard, willing her body to relax.

"It was no longer for me."

"Liar."

She was instantly and utterly furious. "I am _not_—"

"Of course you are. _Patrick Jane_ is a complete lie after all-some guy you invented. What did you do, pick a name from the phone book?"

She couldn't help her stunned reaction to that, and he laughed outright that he'd clearly hit the nail on the head.

_Maybe the bastard __**is **__psychic._

"You obviously didn't want to leave your old job," he continued. "You have civil servant written all over you, my dear."

"It's none of your goddamn business," she said through clenched teeth.

"As is _my_ life. So, I'd say we're at yet another impasse, wouldn't you?"

"No," she snapped. "The difference is, I'm not planning to extort you for thousands of dollars, so it seems to me we are from even on this deal."

"You get my charming company for awhile." And he grinned for emphasis.

"Go to hell."

He laughed, but allowed her a bit of silence to cool her ire the rest of the way to the American River Senior Living Facility.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A nurse showed them the way down the long corridor of the nursing home.

"Mrs. Hawkins is a strange case," she told them on the way. "She'll have times of amazing clarity. Then, next thing you know, she becomes catatonic, and then you won't get anything out of her. If that happens, just press the emergency call button on the phone."

Samantha Hawkins, as it turned out, was just shy of ninety-five years old. Lisbon and Jane found her in her small room, dressed neatly in a flowered blouse and powder blue polyester slacks, her gray hair carefully coiffed, staring out the window at the swaying trees. The nurse went to her wheel chair and touched the old woman's arm.

"Mrs. Hawkins," she said loudly. "You have some visitors." The nurse smiled and left them.

Jane and Lisbon looked at one another, a bit crestfallen at how tiny and frail she appeared. How could a ninety-five-year-old woman remember something that happened sixty-five years ago?

"Visitors?" said the woman, turning her wheelchair slowly around to face them. She frowned. "You're not my grandson and his wife."

"No, ma'am," said Lisbon, taking the cue from the nurse and raising her voice. "We're here to talk to you about something you witnessed many years ago."

"You don't have to yell, missy," Samantha said, her brown eyes looking at her visitors shrewdly.

Jane smiled. "Forgive my partner," he said. "She isn't used to being around seasoned citizens."

Lisbon gasped at his rudeness.

"Who are you?" asked Samantha. "You look familiar, but I don't think we've met. I'd have remembered _you_, sweetie pie." Of course she meant Jane.

"I'm Teresa Lisbon. This is Patrick Jane. We run a detective agency—"

But she ignored Lisbon, only having eyes for Jane now. "Aw, I saw you on television. You got that senator's son out of those murder charges. She reached out a shaky hand and patted Jane's thigh, looking up at him flirtatiously. "What I would have done with a man like you twenty years ago…"

Jane's eyes grew round at the disconcerting thought. _Twenty years ago? When she was __**seventy-five?**_

Lisbon covered her mouth and coughed a little to cover the sudden urge to laugh.

"Well," said Jane, awkward for the first time since Lisbon had met him. "We were wondering, my uh, colleague and I, if you remember speaking to the police about the Derek Cleveland disappearance long ago…"

"Yes, like it was yesterday."

Jane and Lisbon looked at each other, cautiously optimistic.

"What do you remember?" asked Lisbon.

Samantha didn't hesitate. "I remember that floozy luring Derek into that car."

Lisbon frowned in confusion. "Floozy? Did you know her? The police report said you couldn't identify the woman."

"I named her all right, but then I took it back."

"Why?" asked Jane. "Did someone threaten you?"

The old woman sighed, then years seemed to fall away from her lined face as she went back to that time in her mind. "The police put out a notice that they were looking for information about Derek Cleveland. I went right to the police station and told them what I saw. Not an hour after I left, two men showed up on my doorstep. They threatened to kill me and my children if I didn't suddenly claim I had been mistaken, but they also agreed to pay me one thousand dollars. I was a young widow back then—my Harold had died in the War. I'm ashamed to admit it now, but I needed the money. So I lied—said on second thought I'd been mistaken about the identity of the woman."

"We don't blame you a bit," said Jane sympathetically. "You did what you thought was best for your children."

"Yes," she said. "I would do it again too. I didn't care two bits about that hussy. But she paid for her own crimes later."

"But look, Mrs. Hawkins. Whoever threatened you is gone, I imagine, and the statute of limitations for lying to the police has run out. What would it hurt to tell us who that woman is now?"

She cocked her head a little, amusement lighting her faded brown eyes. "I'm not worried about what the police or anyone else might do to me. For one thing, that woman is long dead. I know this because she was murdered not a year after Derek went missing. I know she had something to do with that, by the way. She'd been trying to get him away from Kristina for years, the money grubbing floozy."

"How did she die?" asked Lisbon.

"Stabbed to death in an alley." Mrs. Hawkins didn't seem too broken up about it.

"What was her name?"

"Erica Flynn. She tried to seduce my husband too, once upon a time, but Harold wouldn't hear of it. He knew trash when he smelled it. This was right before he went off to war." For the first time, the past seemed to upset her a bit.

Impressed by all that she had told them, Jane and Lisbon tried to wrap their brains around how history seemed to be coming back to life before their very eyes.

"You knew Derek and Kristina Cleveland then," said Jane.

"Yes. They were about ten years younger than me, but Sacramento was a small town back then. Everyone knew everyone."

"What do you think happened to Derek?" asked Lisbon.

The old woman's frail shoulders rose up and down in a slight shrug. "His father was dirty. I suspect he caught up with those gangsters. Maybe Derek did too."

"If you were going to go back and find out what happened to Derek now, where would you start?" Jane asked.

For the first time, the woman smiled, showing perfect white dentures. "Kristina still beating that dead horse, is she?" 

"Are you in contact with her?" asked Lisbon.

"Every ten years or so, she comes round to grill me about the mysterious woman in the car. I've held out on her for sixty some-odd years, but I think she knew I'd changed my tune from the start."

"Well why didn't you put her out of her misery and tell her?" asked Jane, aghast.

"Because of Harold, of course."

Jane and Lisbon exchanged exasperated glances. This was getting more and more like a soap opera every second.

"Let me guess," ventured Jane. "She and Harold…"

But there was no reply, and when Jane and Lisbon looked more closely at her face, they found her animated expression had disappeared. Jane squatted down before her, waving his hands before her blank brown eyes.

"Mrs. Hawkins?" he said, touching her slim shoulder. "Samantha?"

He frowned and shook his head. "She's out of it." He put his hand gently on her wrist, relieved to feel a surprisingly strong pulse.

Lisbon moved to the phone to call the nurse as they'd been instructed.

"Wait," said Jane, rising. He moved toward the bedside table, opening its drawer, obviously snooping.

"Jane—" she chastised.

"Ah-ha!" he exclaimed, holding up a small, leather bound book. He opened it and found that it was a diary, as he'd suspected. He thumbed through the pages, squinting at the old woman's shaky hand. Samantha Hawkins took detailed notes of her treatment, her opinion of the nurses and other patients, the food, her daily routines. He shut the book and handed it to Lisbon on his way to her closet.

"Jane, this is a terrible invasion of her privacy," she said, depositing it back in the drawer.

"Meh," he said, dismissively.

He turned on the light in the small enclosure, his eyes lighting up at the small, rectangular boxes stacked on her closet shelf. They were labeled by decade, starting with 1930-1939. Jane tiptoed up and removed the box from the forties.

He carried it to Samantha's hospital bed, taking off the cardboard lid to find a row of ten books similar to the diary that had been by her bed, the spines neatly labeled by year in faded black ink.

"Eureka," he murmured, eyes glowing like a child's on Christmas morning. His excitement was contagious, and despite Lisbon's trepidation, she joined him beside the box.

Jane removed the diaries dated 1947-1950, and suddenly his hand was on Lisbon's arm, turning her gently until her shoulder bag was in his grasp in front of her body, the strap still on her shoulder. She felt herself flushing at his close proximity, her breath catching a little as he unzipped the top of her purse where it rested between them, his knuckles brushing her stomach. Despite this uninvited invasion into her personal space, she was rooted to the spot, paralyzed by his nearness, by his fleeting touches. His eyes met hers, and he grinned as he caught her slightly dazed expression. He stepped even closer than necessary, slipping the books into her purse, her light, citrusy perfume teasing his senses.

He re-zipped the bag, then moved it around to hang again at her side, though he himself did not move. There was nothing between their bodies now as they stood facing one another, mere inches apart. He examined her closely, appreciating the delicate rose hue of her cheeks, the light dusting of freckles beneath, her eyes darkened with the first flickers of desire.

"We should probably go," he whispered, his herbal scented breath fanning her warm face. One finger lightly touched the gold cross below her throat for emphasis.

"Yes," she replied, feeling oddly like he was mesmerizing her.

His smile faltered, and he leaned down as if to kiss her, his face blocking out her entire world, but at the last moment, something seemed to spook him, and he stepped away. Turning back to Samantha's bed, he hastily returned the cardboard lid to the box and brushed past Lisbon to put it back on the closet shelf.

Lisbon physically shook herself out of her daze and belatedly found her voice.

"Hey," she said, her hand going to her purse. "We shouldn't be taking these. We don't even have a warrant—"

Jane shut the closet door with a soft click and turned back to her. "You're not a cop anymore, Teresa, remember?"

She flushed for a different reason. "Oh. Well, even worse—if we're caught, now it's theft."

"We're not stealing—we're _borrowing_," said Jane, and Lisbon rolled her eyes. Like she hadn't heard that one a time or two.

"I promise we'll bring them back once we find out whatever little secrets our sweet little witness here is keeping from us."

"Secrets?" Lisbon glanced at the catatonic old woman. "She seemed brutally honest to me."

Jane shrugged. "Well, something about her story seemed a bit off to me. It's in the eyes. Windows to the soul and all…"

He caught _her_ eyes, and she briefly wondered if he could see into her soul at the moment. She certainly hoped not.

"But—" she began, only to be interrupted by the nurse returning.

"We were just about to call you," said Jane, thinking on his feet. "Mrs. Hawkins here seems to have slipped away from us."

The nurse went to her patient, feeling her pulse and nodding in satisfaction. "She'll be fine."

"Good," said Lisbon sincerely, her hand nervously gripping her purse. It was too late now to return the diaries without an awkward lie.

"Did you get everything you needed from her?" the nurse asked.

When the pair had shown up, straight out of the television and newspapers, she'd been more than willing to give them access to Samantha Hawkins. What a story she'd have to tell about how the famous Patrick Jane had been investigating a case in her very own workplace.

"For now," Jane replied. "We might need a follow-up, if she's up to it."

The nurse nodded. "She'll come out of this in a few hours."

"Glad to hear it," said Lisbon. "Mr. Jane, shouldn't we be going?"

"Of course, Ms. Lisbon," he replied dryly. "There's much more investigating to be done."

He rested a hand on her lower back politely, and she forced herself not to cringe at the heat of his touch.

"I'll show you out," offered the nurse, smiling. The rumors about the two of them seemed true—she had no doubt now they were sleeping together. Her friends at the hospital would freak out!

"We hope we can count on your discretion in this matter," cautioned Lisbon as they proceeded back down the corridor. "We wouldn't want anything to interfere with an ongoing investigation…"

The nurse's face fell a little. "Oh. Well, of course not. I won't say a word."

"Thank you."

Jane smirked. That nurse would be on her phone the moment they stepped out of the building.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"Thanks," said Lisbon in annoyance as she drove them back toward the office. "You have now made me a thief as well as a liar."

Jane looked absently out the window, trying to forget what it had been like to stand so close to Lisbon, to want to kiss a woman just for the joy of doing it and not for a payoff. It was making him oddly annoyed with himself.

"Well, lying is the gateway sin, Lisbon. What did you expect?"

She shot him a startled glance which he didn't see, although he felt the heaviness of her gaze upon him. Rather than engage him while he was in this strange mood, Lisbon picked up her phone and called Van Pelt.

"Got a name for the mystery woman," she told her partner. "Erica Flynn. She was murdered some months after Cleveland's disappearance, so you'll probably find some information in old newspapers."

"Right, Boss. I may have to go to the library and use the microfiche," she said, sighing at the thought of the arduous, dusty task. "Something that old may not have been put online yet."

"Sorry. Well, get Rigsby to help you."

"Okay. I guess he's good for something." But there was a smile in Grace's voice when she said it, and Lisbon heard the distinct sound of a smacking kiss, then a muffled: "Stop! I'm on the phone."

Lisbon smiled through her good-bye, and glanced at her passenger, still unusually silent as the miles slipped by.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Did you know that a loaf of bread was fourteen cents in 1948?" asked Jane from his place on Lisbon's couch. He seemed to have recovered his good mood as hepoured through Samantha Hawkins's diary from the year of Derek Cleveland's disappearance. Lisbon sat at the desk, flipping through the book dated the year after.

She stifled a yawn. "Fascinating."

"And she wanted to buy a new car, but just couldn't come up with the thousand bucks. Interesting."

"Hmm," said Lisbon, in the middle of a boring passage about Samantha's son's science project. A few minutes later, he spoke again.

"Did you know that apparently, Samantha was multi-orgasmic?"

"Oh?" she said absently, before what he said sank in, and her eyes flew to him in alarm. "What?"

Jane chuckled, then he began to read:

"_God, this man knows just where to put his tongue. I get all shivery just thinking about it now, even days later. He makes me come again and again, until I'm unable to think or breathe or move."_

"Jane—" she said, distinctly uncomfortable. But he held up a hand and continued cheerfully:

"_I know I should feel guilty about this, not to mention the uncharitable thought that Harold didn't know his way around a woman's body, but I can't help but make the comparison. I mean, D. is only the second man I've ever been with. I'm in love with this man, and it's so wrong, but I can't help it. I've fallen completely under his spell. There's nothing I wouldn't do for him, even use my mouth on _

_his—"_

"Stop!" said Lisbon. "None of our business." She felt her cheeks flaming, her heart picking up speed to complement her heightened respiration.

Jane set the book in his lap. "Our Samantha was naughtier than I thought," he said, his grin mildly lascivious. "Funny coincidence, isn't it? That entry was dated a week before Derek Cleveland went missing."

"_D_," she exclaimed, remembering the initial she'd mentioned.

"Also, likely not a coincidence."

"Well, what else does it say?"

Jane raised an eyebrow.

"No," she amended, "I mean, does she give more clues as to _D.'s_ identity?"

He flipped a few pages, and she watched him frown. "I don't know." He held up the open book, and she could clearly see that pages had been torn out.

"Dammit," she said. "What the hell kind of sick mess have we gotten ourselves into?"

Jane watched her a moment, wondering if she'd realized she'd said _we,_ like he really was an integral part of this thing. It made his heart do a strange little flip, and he staunchly tried to ignore it.

"Curiouser and curiouser," he said blandly.

She suddenly remembered something, and turned the pages of her own book back to the beginning. He watched her face, fascinated by the way her dimple appeared and disappeared beguilingly. Her straight teeth absently bit down on her bottom lip, and he found himself shifting in his place.

"I thought it was weird that this one didn't start right off in January," she was saying. "It skips the whole month entirely, starting February seventh. Two days after Derek's disappearance."

"Well, Alice, I definitely have the feeling we've fallen down a rabbit hole."

_In more ways than one,_ thought Jane, feeling as though the world had suddenly changed for him in all kinds of disturbing ways.

**A/N: Thanks for continuing to read this. I hope it helps you get through the weekend until the next new episode. "The Mentalist" 2.0 is starting in very promising way :).**


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks so much for your reviews of this fic. As usual, I'm behind in responses, but this time due to being home away form high-speed internet for a few days. I promise to catch up soon. I do appreciate all your kind words!

This chapter heats things up a bit, both with the case and between Jane and Lisbon. Hope you don't mind on both counts.

**Chapter 5**

Lisbon and Jane had gone through nearly all of Samantha Hawkins's remaining diaries from cover to cover, with no further mention of whomever _D _was. When Lisbon looked up, it was after six o'clock. She glanced at her couch and found that Jane was deeply asleep, one of Samantha's books open on his gently rising and falling chest.

"If there's nothing else we can do today, Boss, we're out of here," said Van Pelt from the office doorway.

Lisbon sighed. "No, go ahead. Good work today, even though this is turning into the wild goose chase I figured it would."

Van Pelt smiled. "There's always tomorrow."

Lisbon couldn't help but smile at her typical Pollyanna attitude. "Yes, that is certainly true."

"What about him?" asked Van Pelt, suddenly whispering when she noticed their sleeping guest.

"I'll kick him out when I leave."

"Was he helpful at all today?"

He was, actually, thought Lisbon. They worked surprisingly well together, and he had a truly amazing and fascinating mind, despite his eccentric ways and tendency to break the law. For awhile, she'd almost forgotten he was blackmailing her. But she wasn't about to say that where he might actually be listening.

"He's earning his keep," Lisbon replied blandly.

"I'm sure it helped that he's so nice to look at," said Van Pelt, and she grinned like a Cheshire cat at Lisbon's quick blush. Just what she'd suspected. The boss wasn't as immune to their mystery man as she was letting on.

"Good night, Grace," was her reproving reply.

"'Night, Boss."

Lisbon shook her head at Van Pelt's obvious fishing expedition, and turned her attention to the last few pages of the diary dated 1950. As she turned the page to the December 25th entry, a small slip of paper fell out onto her desk. It was yellowed with age, folded into fourths. Gingerly, Lisbon opened it.

_Sam,_

_I know I'm not supposed to be writing to you, but it's almost Christmas, and I find myself missing home. Missing you. _

_I hope it makes it more bearable for you to remember why I have to be gone, that it isn't something I chose—it chose me. So on this Christmas Eve, I hope you think of me fondly, as I do you. I will try to stay in touch more often, but again, I can make no promises, save one:_

_I'll love you forever. _

_Merry Christmas, Sweetheart._

_D._

Lisbon gasped, and, still holding the letter, came hastily from behind her desk and went over to the couch.

"Jane!" she said, kicking the cushion beneath his head. "Wake up!"

"Huh?" he said, blinking up at her, his pale green eyes disoriented. She shoved the letter at him.

"Read this."

He sat up, running a hand through his unruly hair, then squinted down at the letter.

"We need more diaries," he pronounced when he reached the end of the missive.

She nodded. "It's after six. You think visiting hours are over yet?"

Jane grinned at her sudden enthusiasm. "Let's go find out."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

At the nursing home again, they were dismayed to find a different nurse on duty, one who wasn't quite as thrilled to have a pair of local semi-celebrities trying to skirt the rules and possibly take advantage of an old lady.

"I'm sorry, visiting hours are over."

"The sign says visiting hours are until seven," said Jane. "We have five minutes."

"Mrs. Hawkins is sleeping right now. From what I heard, she had a very eventful day." Her tone was blatantly accusatory. Oh, she'd certainly heard about the earlier visit of the duo from Patrick Jane Investigations, and she wasn't impressed in the least.

"Please," said Lisbon. "We've had a break in our case. It's very important that we speak to her."

The diaries in her purse weighed heavily on her conscience, as well as in her shoulder bag, but she'd been drawn into the mystery in spite of herself, and found that this was one time it was worth bending a few laws. Of course it couldn't be the questionable influence of the handsome man beside her, could it?

"I'm sorry. You'll have to get permission from her grandson to get on the visitation list. These spells of hers are nothing to play around with."

"You're a real stickler for the rules, aren't you," said Jane, his voice soothing. "And I don't blame you. I mean, we're two strangers, who may well be up to nefarious deeds. You care for your patients; your job is to protect them."

"That's right," said the nurse coolly.

"Well, your dedication is commendable. Thank you for your time. Ms. Lisbon? Shall we?"

He wrapped his hand around her upper arm, and guided her back toward the exit. When they'd gone around the corner, out of view of the nurses' station, he pulled her into an open patient's room. An elderly man lay sleeping in a hospital bed, his snores filling their ears. Jane leaned closer to Lisbon, his whisper stirring the hair near her ear. She tried in vain not to shiver in reaction.

"Okay, we need some sort of distraction to get Nurse Ratched there away from the desk so we can sneak back into Samantha's room," he said. The nurses' station was between them and Samantha Hawkins's room.

"What? How? And she wasn't the only nurse at the desk, remember?" There had been a male nurse sitting at the computer behind the desk.

Jane grinned, his fingers deftly slipping her soft hair behind her ear. "I've got a plan," he breathed, and she nearly melted into the floor when she felt his lips gently graze her earlobe.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When both nurses had walked past the room where Jane and Lisbon were hiding, they made their move, slipping out the door and around the corner before breaking out into a run toward Samantha's room. The door was shut, and Jane tried the knob. It was locked.

"Damn," he muttered, but then he reached into his inside suit coat pocket and pulled out a small lock pick set.

Her eyes widened, but she didn't question him as he set to work. They were in the direct line of sight of the abandoned desk, and she looked nervously in that direction, her heart racing. It wouldn't be long before the nurses realized there had been no problem with the two patients whose emergency buttons Jane and Lisbon had pressed on their phones. Hopefully, they wouldn't think to connect the ruse back to them and come back and check Samantha's room. That was really the biggest flaw in Jane's little plan—one of many.

"Hurry!" she hissed almost frantically.

"Patience," he said calmly.

He was in in less than ten seconds, pulling her after him. He gently closed the door and locked it again, their eyes immediately going to where Mrs. Hawkins lay on her bed, peacefully sleeping, the only light in the room from the dim bedside lamp.

Jane went immediately to her closet and Lisbon stood guard by the door, staying out of view of its long, rectangular window. He'd almost taken down one box when Lisbon heard angry voices approaching.

"Someone's coming!" And she ran to the closet, pushing Jane inside. She pulled the closet door closed and they huddled behind the old woman's clothes in the darkness. Over her soft panting of fear and exertion, Lisbon heard the nurse rattle the locked doorknob, then unlock it. She tensed, and must have made a small sound in her throat.

"Shhh," said Jane.

She was pressed tightly against his side, his warmth and spicy cologne making her feel even more lightheaded. In the CBI, she'd been in lots of dangerous and sticky situations, but something about being unable to hide behind a badge or a gun this time, made the possible consequences almost as frightening as death. Being in the enclosed space with a sexy man only heightened that emotion.

"One of the aides must have been playing a joke on us," said the nurse. "They'll be laughing when I add an extra shift to their schedules next week."

The door shut again with an angry click.

Lisbon cringed. Jane's trick was going to make someone else's life much more difficult.

"I think the coast is clear. You can let go of my arm now," he said, amusement in his voice. She hadn't realized she'd been gripping it like a vise**.**

"Sorry."

"I didn't mind," he said, and although it was nearly pitch dark, she knew his smile must be as big as Texas.

Cautiously, he turned the doorknob, pushing it open a crack so he could peek into the room. Samantha still lay obliviously in the same position, but thankfully no one else was there. Outside the closet, Jan inclined his head toward the door. Lisbon was to be the lookout again.

Acting quickly, Jane got the diaries they'd read from Lisbon's purse, put them back in the appropriate box, then retrieved the next ten diaries, having to store in his pockets the few that wouldn't fit into Lisbon's purse.

"Okay," he said. "Got 'em. Now," he said almost gleefully, "for the getaway."

Lisbon, for one, was not excited to take their chances again in the hallway.

"There's got to be another way out," she said, risking a glance outside. She could just see the nurses' station out of the periphery of the little window. Both nurses were at the desk again. "Shit," she muttered.

She sensed Jane's presence behind her, then felt him pressing against her back so he too could evaluate their situation.

"That's a good word for our predicament," he said wryly.

She trembled, embarrassed that he must have felt her strong reaction to his touch.

"Derek?" said a small voice from the bed. Lisbon and Jane turned as one in surprise.

"You've come back to me," said Samantha Hawkins. She held out her frail arms in welcome. "Come and give me a kiss, my love."

"Shit," said Jane under his breath.

Lisbon nudged him toward Samantha. Obviously the old woman was delusional, and it wouldn't do to get her upset enough to draw attention. Jane shot Lisbon a look of utter horror, but put on a charming grin before walking to the bed. Samantha took his hand in hers, pulling him down with surprising strength do plant a dry kiss on his lips. He didn't pull away for fear he would hurt her, but he heard Lisbon's involuntary snicker, his eyes wide during the brief assault.

"It's been so long," said Samantha, her hand finding the curls at the back of his neck.

"Yes, dear," said Jane, disentangling himself as gently as he could. "But I can't stay long." He lowered her hands to the bed, then patted them reassuringly.

"I know. They need you. You are so noble, which is why I love you so much."

Jane glanced meaningfully at Lisbon, who still stood watch at the door.

"Do you know where I've been," Jane asked Samantha.

Samantha smiled lovingly. "Of course not. You've always been good keeping your secrets. It's enough that you write sometimes, that you sneak back to see me when you can."

"How could I stay away from such a wonderful woman as you?" he asked, probing for information. Maybe they wouldn't even need to read her diaries now.

"It's your job. I know you hate it. But it's for a good cause."

"Yes," nodded Jane. "What cause is that?"

Samantha laughed faintly, but then a seductive light entered her eyes. "Quit teasing me, Derek. We don't have much time. Come to bed."

She drew back the covers as best she could, inviting him in beside her.

He took her hands again. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I really don't have time for that today."

"Jane!" said Lisbon. Someone was coming.

"Who's that?" said Samantha sharply, at last taking note of Lisbon.

"My assistant," said Jane, his eyes darting to the window overlooking the facility's park-like grounds.

Lisbon caught where he was looking and went to the window. She struggled with the lock at the top, too high for her to reach.

"Jane, help!"

Jane brought Samantha's hand to his lips. "I have to go now. They're coming for us. You mustn't tell anyone we were here."

"You know I won't." There were tears in her eyes.

Tamping down a rush of uncharacteristic pity, Jane dashed to the window and managed to dislodge the locking device, then slid it open. He kicked out the screen, his eyes darting to the door. He could hear the rattle of a meal cart coming closer.

"Go!" he hissed to Lisbon. Fortunately, the nursing home was one level, so all they had to do was avoid the bushes right outside the window. Lisbon didn't hesitate, but climbed out, disappearing into the encroaching darkness.

"I love you, Derek!"

The anguished cry tore from the old woman's lips, haunting Jane as he squeezed out the narrow opening, then hastily closed the window behind them.

Outside, on the walkway that ran around the facility, Jane called softly for Lisbon. He yelped when she emerged from the bushes and grabbed his hand.

"This way," she said, pulling him toward the parking lot.

They ran for it, not stopping until they reached Lisbon's car, her heavy purse slapping painfully against her side. She unlocked the driver's side, then slid in and unlocked the passenger's. Inside, they sat a moment, breathing heavily, relieved laughter bubbling up from Lisbon's throat.

"That was crazy," she said. And she turned to look at him in the dim light. "You were something else."

She meant how he'd handled everything, came up with the half-baked plan that ended up working, was so compassionate with Samantha Hawkins, how he got them out of the building unscathed. It was the first bit of real excitement she'd had since leaving the CBI. Jane grinned at her, and before she could fully catch her breath, he'd leaned toward her, capturing her lips with his own, his hand sliding smoothly into her hair.

She gasped at the unexpected onslaught, her heart seeming to contract for a moment before beating a mad tattoo against her chest. His mouth was hot and impossibly sensual, lips languidly caressing hers, allowing her to become accustomed to his touch before entreating entrance with a swipe of his tongue. She was helpless to resist him, her mind a jumbled mess, her lips parting automatically to admit his expert tongue.

She heard herself moan as if from a great distance, whereupon he adjusted the angle of the kiss to go even deeper, his tongue exploring her mouth, relentlessly tasting, then savoring her flavor. He was holding her in a sort of thrall-her own personal lotus flower, whose succulent taste made her forget everything but him and the way his lips molded to hers.

He ended it long before she was ready. Jane sat back in his bucket seat, his breathing as loud as if he'd just run a race. She felt a feminine satisfaction that she'd apparently affected him just as much as he had her.

"Where-where did that come from?" she stuttered.

"Adrenaline," he explained, but they both knew it was much more than that. She vaguely wondered where all his confidence of a few seconds ago had gone.

"Yeah," she willingly agreed. It had to be that.

With shaking hands, she turned over the engine, and they drove silently back to the office.

Xxxxxxxxxx

_Why the hell did I do that?_ Jane kept asking himself. Not that he didn't want to—oh no, he was more attracted to Teresa Lisbon than he'd been to a woman since, well, since Angela, if he were honest with himself. Two days before, he would have gladly taken her to bed, shared a memorable night with a sensual woman, then gotten his payoff and disappeared. But as he'd kissed her, it had stirred something in him long dormant, something that had the potential to derail his entire plan.

If he didn't need the money so much, he'd cut his losses and run now.

He glanced over at Lisbon, who was absently driving through evening traffic. She was obviously shaken too by their encounter, both literally and figuratively. He'd felt her tremble beneath his lips, felt her body melt into his, saw her hands shake as she'd tried twice to put her key in the ignition. It's strong sexual attraction, he told himself; that's all it is. He'd bet his life it had been awhile since anyone had shown her male attention outside of work.

She'd actually be the perfect mark for that reason alone, he realized, and there was great potential in continuing to siphon money from her beyond her next paycheck. The way her business was about to take off, she could set him up for some time if he played his cards right. He knew how to hold a woman's interest, get her to lavish money and sexual favors upon him until he'd gotten his fill.

So why did that idea seem suddenly so abhorrent to him?

"What do you think she meant," Lisbon was saying, in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the tension in the car, to put things on a more businesslike keel. "How Derek was doing something that was both secretive and noble?"

_Oh. The case._

He'd nearly forgotten all about that.

"Well, what's the first thing that comes to mind?"

"Secret agent," they said together.

Lisbon sniffed skeptically. "That's ridiculous. That stuff only happens in the movies. Besides, who would they be spying on in 1948? World War II was over."

"But the Cold War with Russia had just begun," Jane countered. "It was a time when people like McCarthy were starting to build their case against suspected communists. Maybe Derek Cleveland was on the ground floor of those investigations."

She raised her eyebrows at his knowledge of history. "More likely, given his father's connections to gangsters, he was in some sort of witness protection program of that time. Maybe he was going to give up what he knew about his father's business to the police. We'll have to delve more deeply into those diaries."

Jane shook his head. "I don't think we're going to find anything there. She obviously didn't know what he was up to. Maybe tomorrow, when Nurse Ratched's off duty, I can get Samantha to give us some more clues. She might remember something helpful that could lead us where to look."

Lisbon smiled. "You really must look like this Derek Cleveland. You've wrapped two women around your fingers because of it."

_Three_, _actually,_ Lisbon realized sheepishly, if they counted herself among the taken ones. She'd always had a thing for handsome blonds who kissed like they'd been born to it.

Lisbon's thoughts were so loud that Jane could almost hear them. He was well aware of the affect he had on women, and if he reminded them of a long lost love, well, all the better to get what he wanted from them-Lisbon included. He had to stop allowing his emotional reactions to take his eyes off the prize.

"Maybe I can use that to my advantage," he ventured.

"That's cruel," she said, trying to ignore his possible double meaning. "Those women loved that man, and no matter what he was up to, good or bad, he abandoned them."

"Seems to me Kristina just wants closure. That doesn't necessarily mean it will be a happy ending. You're a realist, Lisbon; you know where this case is likely heading."

"Poor Kristina, though," said Lisbon. "Her husband not only left her, but he was having an affair all along. I hate to break the news to her."

"Then why tell her unless it becomes relevant? She only wants to know what became of her husband."

"She's paying us for the truth, happy or not, as you said. We should tell her everything we find out."

"You sure about that?" Jane said softly. "Sometimes the truth about someone isn't worth the price of knowing."

_Was he talking about himself now? _

"The truth is _always_ worth it," she argued, but she had a niggling doubt whether she fully believed her own words.

As Lisbon pulled into the parking lot of her office building, she was pleased that she'd managed to distract herself for awhile from their earlier encounter. Now, in the silence of the vehicle, memories of hot, languid kisses filled the air between them.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he told her suddenly, reaching for the door handle.

"You're not coming up to help me look through these diaries?" She couldn't believe she was asking _him_, her blackmailer, for his continued company.

"I told you it's probably a waste of time now. I suggest you get with your contacts in the CBI or FBI to give up what they know about Derek Cleveland."

He was probably right, but she was a little hurt he seemed so anxious to get away from her all of a sudden. Isn't that what she wanted though? What the hell was wrong with her?

"You need a lift somewhere?" she asked, trying to sound merely polite. She didn't want him to think it was a blatant excuse to prolong their time together.

_Which it was, _said the traitorous voice in her head_._

His knowing smile made her blush, and she was grateful for the dimness of the car.

"Nice try, Lisbon. I'll find a cab, thank you."

He'd thought she'd still been trying to discover his identity, she realized. And then she wondered why she hadn't thought of that herself. She was slipping.

He opened the door and the interior light turned on. He turned to look at her, his eyes growing soft, and, almost against his will, he reached out a finger to lightly touch her warm cheek.

"Good night, Teresa. I had fun."

The memory of their earlier kisses suffused her, and she found herself saying: "Me, too."

When he chuckled as he got out of her car, she realized that once again, they'd been talking about two entirely different things.

**A/N: I do hope the mystery is staying interesting. I don't often dwell so much on a case, but this is an excuse to pull them closer together. If you don't like that aspect, however, let me know, and I'll wrap the case up sooner than later. Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think.**

P.S. Oh, and you might not have heard, but I will soon have the honor of working with two of my favorite authors on this site—my old partner, starry19 and . We'll take turns writing chapters for it, a light (sort of) Christmasey (a little) post 6x10 extended tag. The first chapter was written and will be posted by starry, the moment we decide on a title. Be on the lookout. We hope it will be epic!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks so much for all that are reading and reviewing this story, as well as my older ones. It is so flattering to know some of you are going back and reading or even re-reading my past fics. The majority of you said you wanted me to keep the case in this story going, so I will continue on. I promise it won't take away from the romance, because that's really the point of this whole mess...

**Chapter 6**

Jane wasn't there the next morning when Lisbon arrived, but then, she had even been earlier than Van Pelt for a change. She hadn't slept well, tossing and turning and reliving his kiss over and over in her mind. She'd been so jittery that morning from lack of sleep that she'd actually avoided coffee, and had come in early to start reading Samantha's Hawkins's journals to get her mind off of Jane. When eight-thirty rolled around, and Van Pelt arrived, there was still no sign of her blackmailer. Nine o'clock, and Rigsby came in, a fast food sausage biscuit and coffee in tow, yet still no Jane.

By eleven, Lisbon began to wonder if she'd scared the man away. Maybe if she'd kissed him that first day, he never would have stuck around, she thought wryly. She resigned herself to the idea that perhaps he'd found another sucker to scam, that even a big payoff wasn't worth the hassle of a woman fawning all over him. Not that she would do that, but she'd be lying if she wasn't curious if his kisses would be as passionate in the light of day.

"Where's your shadow?" asked Rigsby from her doorway, just before lunchtime.

"Who knows?" she said, trying for nonchalance. "Did you call Cho about Derek Cleveland?"

"Yeah. He said he'd see what he could find out. Any luck with those diaries?"

She'd filled him in on what she and Jane had been up to—well, _most_ of what they'd been up to.

"Nothing. No more letters slipped between pages, no more details of their clandestine meetings. Just careful notes on the daily events of her and her children's lives."

"Huh. Weird," observed Rigsby. "It's like it never happened."

"Maybe it didn't," suggested Van Pelt, joining them. "You think she could have invented all of it in her mind? There was just that one journal entry, and the letter, right? Maybe it was just a one-time thing."

Lisbon shook her head. "You should have seen her last night, when she thought Jane was Derek. It was touching, really. She'd obviously been in love with the man."

"Well, guess pretending to be someone he's not is Mr. Jane's forte," said Rigsby sarcastically. "That and theft. I still say he stole my tie."

"Will you shut up about that damn tie," chided Van Pelt mildly. She glanced at Lisbon. "We're off to lunch, Boss. You want to join us? Or we could bring something back for you."

"No, that's all right. You two go ahead; I'll grab something later. If Cho doesn't come up with anything else, looks like we'll have hit a dead end."

"Poor Mrs. Cleveland," said Van Pelt. Rigsby began propelling his girlfriend toward the door. If they didn't leave now, lunchtime traffic would be in full swing.

"See you in an hour, Boss," called Rigsby.

And the pair left. Lisbon sat back in her chair, a wave of tiredness overtaking her. She wished she could sleep like Jane could, at the drop of a hat, like a cat. Her eyes rested on the empty couch, and she hated that she missed seeing his golden head there. She should be happy he was gone.

The sound of someone opening the outer office door had her rising to her feet to meet her visitor, and she felt such a rush of emotion at seeing him that she felt a bit unsteady on her feet.

"Hi, Boss," he said brightly.

She blinked. "Oh," was all she could manage.

Jane's eyes narrowed. "You thought I'd cut out on our deal, didn't you? Well it would take more than a make-out session in an old Mustang to get rid of me."

The fact that he'd read her mind so exactly stirred up her ire. "Oh, really? How _much_ more?" she asked pointedly.

Jane's smile was positively lascivious, and he strode closer to her. "Hmm, how much _more_ are you willing to give me, Teresa?"

She felt the telltale flush in her cheeks, and she turned abruptly back toward her office, angry with herself for engaging in another battle of words with the infuriating man. His soft chuckle only made it worse.

He set down a white paper take-out bag. He'd brought cheeseburgers and fries, and in his other hand he held a chocolate milkshake. Her mouth watered in appreciation, and she thanked him around a mouthful of French fries.

"I figured you hadn't taken time for lunch," he proclaimed, removing his own burger. How did he already know her so well?

"Well, where the hell have you been?" she demanded, seeking the safety of having her large desk between them.

"Glad to have been missed," he shot back, then his tone grew serious. "I went to see Samantha Hawkins this morning."

She paused mid-bite. "What?" _Without me?_

"She's dead," he stated simply.

Lisbon gasped. "How?"

He shrugged, settling on the couch with his lunch. "Old age, I suppose. Something about her heart, said the _nice _nurse."

Lisbon looked down at the purloined diaries on her desk. It would be even trickier now to get them back.

"Her grandson was there," Jane continued dully. "I asked him if he'd ever heard his grandmother speak of Derek Cleveland."

"And?"

"He hadn't. Samantha was very good at keeping secrets. I returned the diaries I'd had with me, told him she'd loaned them to us to help solve our case. He'd known about those, of course. He seemed pretty suspicious that she'd let them out of her sight."

"Well, I'll mail back the others. Wow. I can't believe it. What a strange coincidence, that she would die just when the past had come back to haunt her."

"Yes, isn't it?" said Jane coldly.

"You don't think someone would-? Why?"

"So her secrets would die with her."

They sat in silence a moment, each of them contemplating this horrible theory of his while they chewed.

"I'll try to get the coroner's report. I still have a few connections there."

"There's not going to be any kind of inquest. She was ninety-five, Lisbon, with no apparent signs of foul play. Just another old woman who died alone in a nursing home. Sad, but unfortunately, par for the course these days."

"I'm waiting to hear from my CBI contact to get back to me," she said.

"Oh? About me or about Derek Cleveland?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "Both," she said honestly.

"Our kiss didn't change your mind about me?"

She flushed at his bluntness. "No. On the contrary, now I'm even more intrigued."

Jane grinned. "Really. It was that good, was it?"

She wasn't going to allow him to bait her. "Your arrogance is very annoying."

"Aw, but based in truth."

"That's the thing about you, Mr. Jane, or whoever you are: with you, I can never quite tell what the truth _is._ It makes you intriguing, yes, but exhausting at the same time."

"It's fun to be mysterious, to keep people guessing."

"But it must be very lonely," she said, and she knew she must have hit the mark, for his smile froze on his face, and the spark of mirth left his eyes. He lowered his burger.

"I've found that the truth isn't nearly as exciting as the lies we create for ourselves."

"How very sad for you," she said, and the pity in her eyes sickened him, but he forced himself to grin in his usual devil-may-care way. Never let your mark see your true weaknesses; this had been pounded into his brain as Rule Number One.

"I suppose there is one truth I find to be very exciting," he said, rising from the couch and making his way to her desk. He tossed the white paper from his lunch into her wastebasked. His eyes never left hers, and once again Lisbon had the distinct feeling that he was somehow holding her in thrall. He leaned toward her, his palms flat on the wooden surface.

"Your lips are as soft and smooth as a woman's inner thighs," he said softly.  
"And when I kiss them, they tremble in much the same way."

She swallowed, her hamburger suddenly dry in her throat, and her eyes dropped to his lips before skittering nervously away.

"The funeral is the day after tomorrow," Jane said, abruptly changing the subject. He turned and went back to his adopted couch. "I think we should go."

"I only gave this case three days," she reminded him, her voice a little breathless from her speeding heart.

"But we're so close to solving this thing! And think of the payoff from the Cleveland Department Store heiress, eh?"

Lisbon's head was spinning. How did this man go from business to seduction and back again so effortlessly?

"How do you figure we're close? We've got next to nothing." 

"Aw, but your friend in the CBI is gonna dig something up, I can feel it. In the meantime, you never know who might show up at a funeral. I've watched the cop shows…."

Lisbon sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me," he said giving an exaggerated yawn. "Yonder couch beckons."

"You're going to take a nap."

"Yes," he said, slipping off his shoes and relaxing on the supple leather. "I've had a hard morning and my belly is pleasantly full."

She finished her lunch and pondered the two great mysteries that were plaguing her mind, one of which was catnapping on her couch.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rigsby and Van Pelt returned from lunch with Kimball Cho in tow. Lisbon shut her office door on a sleeping Jane and joined the trio, giving her old second in command a hug, which he returned with unusual warmth.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she said with a misty smile, reveling in the younger man's muscular embrace.

He wasn't normally a hugger, but he genuinely missed her at the CBI. What still seemed surreal was that he now had her old job as team leader, and though he knew only the vagaries of what had gone down with her hasty resignation, he didn't judge her. Whatever she had done, she must have had her reasons, and that was good enough for Cho.

"He has some news," said Van Pelt, when Cho and Lisbon broke apart. "About Jane," she finished on a whisper, eyes going to the closed door..

"Let's go to your office, Wayne," said Lisbon, following her gaze.

They went to the smaller office across the reception area from hers and shut the door, Lisbon's pulse quickening at the idea that at last, she would know the true identity of the menace sleeping on her couch.

"Who is he?" Lisbon asked Cho the moment the door was closed.

Rigsby gave Lisbon his desk chair, and the rest of the group sat in either of the chairs before the desk, or on the desk itself.

"I don't know," said Cho.

"What? Weren't the prints on that mug clear enough?"

"Yeah. But the man hasn't been arrested, and he didn't pop up in any state's database that uses fingerprints on their driver's licenses."

Lisbon was dumbfounded.

"He must be using fakes," said Rigsby.

"Or he's just lucky enough to have never gotten caught," suggested Van Pelt.

"Your probably both right," said Cho. "Also, there wasn't enough DNA on the mug to search that way."

_No wonder he wasn't concerned about his prints being run._

"Okay," Lisbon said, resigned to the inconclusive news. "Here's what we're going to do. Tonight, Grace and Wayne, you two leave early, but wait outside across the street from the office for Jane to leave. Then, follow him, find out where he's living. The moment he leaves, I'll go search the place."

"I doubt if you'll find anything," Rigsby said. "Guy like that's too smart to leave anything incriminating just lying around."

"It's worth a shot," said Lisbon.

"If you don't trust him," said Cho, "why don't you just cut him loose?"

Lisbon gave her ready cover story, and while it was the truth, she hated that she couldn't tell her friends _all_ of the truth.

"Because people are still asking for the Patrick Jane they saw on TV. Our current client wanted him on the case specifically."

"And she's a pretty big fish," said Rigsby.

"Huh," said Cho, but Lisbon felt the uncomfortable weight of his thoughtful gaze upon her.

"Any news on Derek Cleveland?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Too early," Cho replied. "My FBI source is having to dig back pretty far. I'll let you know as soon as I hear something."

"Cho met us for lunch," said Van Pelt. "He wanted to tell you the news about Jane—or lack of news—in person."

Cho nodded, then rose from his chair. "Speaking of which, I'm running late getting back from my lunch break."

"The boss can do that now and then," said Lisbon with a proud smile.

Cho blessed her with a rare smile of his own.

They all stood to say goodbye, enjoying the few brief moments they'd had together again. They still made a great team.

"I'll walk you out," Lisbon offered, and they walked together toward the elevator.

At the landing, Cho hit the call button and turned concerned dark eyes upon his former boss.

"What's this guy got on you?"

There was no sense lying to Cho. She actually felt relieved to talk to someone about it.

"He's blackmailing me," she admitted. "If I don't pay him the Harper fee, he'll expose us to the press, and we'll be ruined."

Cho's demeanor grew cold with anger. "Give me ten minutes with him in an interrogation room, and I'll pull out his true identity; then you'll have something to bargain with."

Lisbon laughed, touched by his protectiveness. "You haven't met the man. No offense, but I think he might even be able to slip past you."

"I could beat it out of him," he offered, and Lisbon knew he was quite serious.

"I don't want you risking your career for me, but thank you."

"You haven't told Wayne and Grace."

"No, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't either. Before we caught the Harper case, they were considering jumping ship, I know it. With this windfall, we're up and running fast. They'll get their share of the money, and I'll make it up somehow, don't worry."

"But I do," he said.

In many ways, Lisbon had always been more like an older sister to them, concerned for their welfare and sacrificing herself over and over again for their safety and happiness. He wished she would let him return the favor.

"Thanks, Kimball. It's good to know I have someone inside the CBI who still trusts me."

"There's never been any doubt," he said sincerely. He really did miss her, and this time, when the elevator dinged its arrival, he was the one to initiate the hug.

"I'll call you soon about Cleveland," he told her. "Let me know if you change your mind about that interrogation."

She grinned. "You'll be the first to know."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

If Jane was suspicious about her brief absence from her office, he didn't let on, and when Van Pelt and Rigsby peeked in to announce they had to cut out early to get ready for a concert, he didn't seem to doubt their lie. He merely picked up the copy of the _California Criminal Code_ from her bookshelf and began reading the dry tome in earnest.

An hour later, Lisbon made moves to leave for the day.

"Quittin' time," she said brightly. "I got a call from Kristina Cleveland earlier. She's coming in for an update tomorrow, so I expect you to be on time in the morning. Wear a tie."

He gave her a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am."

The moment they were in the elevator, he pulled her into his arms, pressing her body against the wall and kissing her so thoroughly her toes curled.

"I've been dying to do that all day," he breathed into her ear. She swallowed over her stuttering pulse, then disentangled her fingers from his soft hair. She hadn't even remembered putting them there.

He brushed one last tender kiss on her swollen lips, then stepped away from her the moment the elevator door slid open on the first floor lobby.

"See you tomorrow, Boss," he said before leaving her with that infuriating smile of his. Lisbon rode the elevator one more floor down to the parking garage, taking out her key to the Mustang. Her entire body still hummed from Jane's sensual hit and run.

Her cell phone rang, startling her. She fumbled to retrieve it from her purse.

"We're on him," said Van Pelt.

"Good. Call me when he lands."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"He's in a motel down on Howe Avenue," Rigsby reported thirty minutes later. "The Hospitality Inn—a real dump. He took a bus to get there."

_He must really be hurting for money, _Lisbon mused_._

"Watch his room for awhile. Let me know if he leaves again. I'm heading that way."

"Will do, Boss."

She was almost to Howe when Van Pelt called. "He left the motel and walked to a café down the street."

"I see the motel now. What's the room number?"

"Eighteen."

"How are you going to get in, Boss?" asked Van Pelt anxiously.

"I have my ways." The less they knew, the better. "Just call me the second he leaves the café."

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

She parked her Mustang on the other side of the run-down motel, in a dark spot beneath some trees that would hopefully shield the stand-out vehicle from Jane's observant gaze. She stopped at Room Eighteen, pleased that the place was archaic enough that it still required an old-fashioned key instead of a keycard. She was glad she wouldn't have to use one of her old CBI badges to muscle her way in with the innkeeper.

From her purse she retrieved a lock pick set of her own—Jane wasn't the only one who knew a thing or two about gaining access where he didn't belong. Everyone in a place like this would mind their own business, but the gun on her hip made her feel much more secure (and she also had the badge, just in case). She looked around stealthily before attacking the lock.

After a few precious minutes, she pushed open the door with a satisfied grin, then flipped on the light and surveyed her blackmailer's domain. Except for the general dumpy state of the carpeting and furniture, it was neat and clean as a pin. She went first to the small, doorless closet, noting several expensive three-piece suits, a few tailored dress shirts, two nondescript t-shirts, and a pair of faded jeans. She checked the pockets of everything, but found nothing but a few pennies and a linen handkerchief—no monogram. The quality of his possessions told the strange story of a man who had apparently gone from riches to rags.

On the floor was an empty suitcase and a pair of casual, high-quality leather penny loafers. She checked the suitcase thoroughly, looking for a false bottom or hidden pockets, but to no avail.

The drawers of the dresser contained the expected socks and underwear, and on top, an inexpensive comb and brush set. She took a few strands of gold-blonde hair and put them in a baggy she'd brought with her. Maybe she'd get a chance to send it off to find a match for his identity that way. She sniffed the lone bottle of expensive cologne, the scent bringing to mind their heated kisses, but she pushed those memories aside and forced herself back to work.

On top of the dresser was an electric teapot, and an assortment of teabags. The tiny refrigerator held a quart of milk, bottled water, and a lone beer.

In the bathroom she found masculine toiletries and she took more DNA from the disposable razor, just in case. There was nothing hidden in the tank of the toilet or under the sink, so she left the room, feeling the minutes ticking by. She hadn't heard from her team yet, so she took a deep breath and relaxed. She'd have time. Next, she attacked the bed.

The nightstand held a stack of books, ranging in topic from classic literature to philosophy, crime novels and romantic poetry. She shook her head, no closer to understanding this man than she had been when she'd walked into his room. Between the mattresses, she hit pay dirt. A small caliber pistol was shoved almost in the middle of the queen-sized bed, along with a carton of ammo. She searched the weapon for a serial number, but it had long been sanded off. She wondered if the gun was used merely for protection, or if he'd committed some heinous crime with it. She hoped from deep in her soul that it was the former.

Lisbon had just returned the gun and put the bed to rights when she heard the key in the lock. She looked around in a panic, but there was no escape, so she stood her ground proudly, her hand on the gun that rested beneath her blazer.

He didn't seem at all surprised to see her.

"Well, hello Teresa," Jane said with a knowing grin. "You could have waited for an invitation you know, but I have to say, I like this more aggressive side of you."

She blushed in spite of herself. They both knew the real reason she was here.

"You could have saved me the trouble and told me who you really are," she said.

He shrugged, moving closer to her in the small room. She backed up, but there was only the nightstand and the bed behind her.

"I'll leave that mystery for you and your able team to decipher. I'm sure you'll let me know the moment you do. In the meantime," he continued, his hands going to her shoulders. "Mi casa," he said, his lips lowering to her cheek, "es su casa…"

**A/N: Hope you liked this chapter. Sorry for the minor cliffie, but I plan to pick up right here in the next chapter, I promise. In the meantime, please log in and leave a review. I'll love you forever!**


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks for the great reviews of the last chapter. Sorry (okay, not really) for the cliffhanger. But it got you back here, didn't it? (Yes, I'm shameless.) This chapter veers decidedly toward the "M" category, so be warned, and there is a bit of harsh language too. Enjoy :)

**Chapter 7**

His lips slid along her jaw line to her ear, and her hands came to rest on his slim waist so she could hold on, afraid she might melt into the floor. He took a step closer, so that when her cell phone vibrated in her front pants pocket, they both felt the buzz. Jane grinned against her cheek.

"Either I've inadvertently hit the right spot, or one of your loyal team members is checking in."

Lisbon disentangled herself from him in embarrassment, stepping away so she could answer her phone. She didn't know if she was thankful or disappointed by the interruption.

"Have you found anything?" asked Van Pelt.

"No. There's nothing here. You two may as well go home for the night."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm on my way out myself." She avoided looking at Jane.

"Okay, Boss. See you tomorrow."

"Good night."

She dropped the phone back in her pocket and looked at him in annoyance. "When did you make them?"

"The moment I left your office. Don't be too hard on them, though. I've been expecting this to happen. Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't follow me sooner."

"We've been a little busy with the case," she said, then remembered the other ways she'd been "busy" with him lately.

"So you slipped out the back door of the café," she reasoned. She shook her head. "Fool us twice…"

"Yeah, but as far as you knew, I hadn't seen them. I didn't even know for sure _you_ were here until I saw your Mustang on the other side of the building when I came the back way."

She stared at him, trying to look beyond the amused facade, to see if there was really a soul beneath the smoothness and the insanely beautiful face.

"You really like this, don't you?" she asked him. "The game? Tell me, when are you going to stop playing and get real? Tell me who you are. I'll still give you the money."

It was on the tip of his tongue to come back with a smartass reply, but something stopped him, an unfamiliar desire to be…honest.

"I'm nobody," he said seriously. "And the person you've seen the last few days—that's the real me. Of course I have secrets, like everyone else. Like _you_, Teresa," he reminded her.

"Yeah, but I don't feel the need to blackmail people to get what I want. After you stepped in at that press conference, I might have given you a job. You wouldn't have had to go to these extremes to get a payoff."

"A _job_?" he said it like it was a dirty word. "I don't want a job, at least not one like you mean. Whenever I've held the same job down for awhile, I always felt the uncontrollable urge to break free. It's in my blood, I suppose."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You descend from gypsies?"

He chuckled wryly. "Something like that."

But he was still not forthcoming, despite his insistence that he was showing her the real him. And she had come to realize that she liked this man, admired his resourcefulness, his intelligence, his sense of humor.

If only he wasn't trying to shake her down.

It was at that moment that an insane thought occurred to her, one so risky that it made her heart rate pick up just thinking about it. He was obviously attracted to her, and she thought he even liked her as a person. He was softening toward her, she could feel it. She was a pretty good study of human behavior herself, given her training and experience with the CBI. But could she manipulate the manipulator? Make him _her_ mark?

She wasn't that experienced in the art of seduction, or sexual manipulation, but she knew a few moves in the bedroom, knew how to make a man go crazy with desire. If she pulled out all the stops with this man, would it be enough to get him to change his mind about blackmailing her? She could tell by his kisses, by the way he touched her, that he'd had some quality experience with women, so she would have to compete with that. But one thing Lisbon had learned about sex: sexual attraction and passion often made up for a lack of experience. She knew instinctively that she would have an abundance of those things with Jane.

Whatever she did, the real trick would be not allowing her own heart to get involved, to pretend to be seduced when in fact _she_ was the seducer. For fifty-thousand dollars, she could do this, and she tried not to contemplate what it so obviously sounded like.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane watched the play of emotions over Lisbon's face, knew that she was deeply torn about something. Her brow furrowed adorably, and her cheeks flushed pink. She was obviously thinking about sex. Maybe contemplating having sex with _him_. But why would she do that? He was no slouch in bed, and their kisses had been pretty spectacular, but he didn't buy her jumping in the sack with him so easily, so willingly. He was blackmailing her, for God's sake. No self-respecting woman would give herself to a man she didn't trust. Hmm, it would be worth seeing how far she would go to get whatever it was she wanted. And he'd be more than happy to accommodate her.

"Figure it out?" he asked, after the silence had drawn out almost humorously.

"No," she said, moving to stand before him. "You are a hard man to decipher. How does someone so talented and perceptive end up a common crook? There are so many ways you could help people, could be a better man."

"Use my powers for good?" he suggested, gently mocking.

"Something like that," she said, mocking his earlier words.

Her fingers moved up his arms to his shoulders, before interlocking at the back of his neck. She looked up at him from beneath dark lashes, and his hands automatically fell to her waist. He brushed against the coldness of her gun, and-he couldn't help it—somehow this made him feel instantly and unbelievably hot.

"I'm just happy to see you," she said with a smirk, noticing his brief tension in the vicinity of her weapon.

"Are you? You didn't seem so happy when I opened the door earlier."

"You just took me by surprise, that's all. But you have me so worked up, trying to solve all your mysteries, I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to do _something_."

_Worked up is good, _he thought.

"I suppose I'd do the same, were the shoe on the other foot," he conceded. Her fingers toyed with his curls, and he couldn't stop the faint shiver as her nails brushed neck.

She smiled knowingly. "Why don't we agree to put away the spy versus spy routine and call a truce—at least for tonight."

His hands were tantalizingly close now to the undersides of her breasts and he felt her tense in anticipation. He was feeling a mite tense too.

"Okay," he said, "Truce." And he leaned the short distance down to her lips.

He'd intended to start slowly, seductively, but the moment he felt her mouth on his, desire shot through him and he found himself so inflamed that he forgot about finessing, forgot about pretending, and kissed her like he really wanted to. He was desperate, passionate and maybe even a little rough, but she seemed to revel in it, giving as good as she got, her mouth fused hotly to his, tongues dueling, hands caressing and exploring beneath the annoying barriers of their clothing. When he came to her gun belt, he removed that first, gently dropping it, along with the holstered weapon, to the floor. They toed off their shoes in tandem.

He lowered her to the bed, craving the feel of bare skin on skin, hungry for the taste of her breasts, for the heaven he knew awaited under that staid suit. As they rolled upon the mattress, each trying to disrobe the other one first. It was pretty much a draw, for when at last they came together, completely naked, they gave a mutual moan of gratitude. He found her breasts with his mouth, the juncture of her thighs with clever fingers. Lisbon's hands wandered over his lightly muscled arms, his shoulders, his back, before holding him more tightly to her breasts, gasping as her excitement grew to a fever pitch.

Her thighs began to shake uncontrollably as he worked his fingers within her. Just when she was close to the edge, however, he took her completely by surprise and slid inside her body. One deep thrust and she came with a helpless cry, her orgasm rolling over her in waves, bright lights flashing behind her tightly closed eyelids. But he didn't pause to let her recover, his hips moving relentlessly on in pursuit of his own selfish goal.

His breath rasped out of his body with each thrust, and when she looked at his face above hers, his eyes were closed, his expression one of intense concentration. She found that when she matched his movements, bending her knees to allow him to go even deeper, his face contorted in what she might have thought was pain, except that she felt the thrill of him hardening even more inside of her. His hands were at her waist now, his fingers almost bruising as he forcefully guided her movements for the best angle, the most gratifying rhythm. Had she not felt another climax building, Lisbon might have felt like he was using her, so focused did he seem on finding his own pleasure.

Her second orgasm slammed into her even harder than the first, and with her tightening contractions, Jane groaned in release, his final push filling her completely as she trembled around him. He collapsed on top of her, his weight pleasantly heavy, his heart pounding against hers, his breathing loud in her ear. So much for _her _seducing him, she thought wryly.

She gave into the impulse to hug him to her, moved beyond words by the ecstasy he had wrung out of her still throbbing body. Her hands went to the back of his head again, the curls now damp with exertion, and she felt a sudden tenderness toward this enigmatic man who for some reason felt compelled to pretend to be someone he was not.

As their bodies cooled, Jane rolled off of hers to lay on his back, his eyes still closed, his chest beginning to rise and fall at a normal pace.

"That was lovely, Teresa," he said as she lay beside him atop the bedclothes. She looked up at the cheaply blown ceiling, the glitter there sparkling faintly in the dim overhead light. She was about to agree with him, but his next words shot straight to her heart, momentarily paralyzing her with despair.

"But as good as it was—as good as _you_ were," he continued, eyes still shut. "It wasn't enough to cancel our deal. I didn't want to get your hopes up. I was thinking that I'd like your payment in cash, but nothing so cliché as to be in small bills. Hundreds will do nicely."

When she was quiet for so long, he should have expected the feel of the cold metal pressing against his temple, but in truth, the incredible sex he'd just had had dulled his senses a bit. He hadn't even felt her get off the bed to retrieve her gun from the floor. He lazily opened one eye to peer blearily up at her.

She was angrier than he had ever seen her, the pulse beating in her throat, her bare breasts heaving gloriously. He supposed he didn't blame her. Yes, he had used her, but then, she had him as well, in a pathetically obvious attempt to get him to soften up toward her. He grinned. _Soft_ wasn't the best adjective to describe his reaction to the delectable Teresa Lisbon, however.

"You…are an asshole," she said, her voice dangerously low, the gun pressing even more firmly to his head.

He closed his eye again contentedly. "You're not gonna shoot me, Teresa," he said. "It'd be a big mess, and probably impossible for you to dispose of my body without somebody seeing. And if you left me here, well, I'm afraid your DNA is all over me, sweetheart…So why don't you just get back on this bed, and-?"

He hadn't predicted the punch. He sat up in bed, his hand going to his throbbing nose, blood already running into his mouth. She still held the gun, so he rightly deduced that he'd just been on the wrong end of Teresa Lisbon's mean left hook.

"Jesus! What the hell!" he honked, grabbing a wad of tissues from the side of the bed.

Already she was putting her clothes back on, including the holster, into which she efficiently deposited her weapon. She probably didn't even need that, Jane thought; her fist was just as lethal.

"To think I was starting to feel sorry for you," she was muttering, buttoning her shirt and ignoring his obvious distress.

"Sorry?" he said, but it came out more like "_Snarry."_

"I thought, poor guy, his past must have been awful for him to want to pretend to be someone else. Maybe he'd been abused or orphaned—something really bad must have happened to have led you down this road of lies and blackmail. But no," she said, pausing to slip on her blazer jacket, "you're just an opportunist and a thief, plain and simple."

She stopped to look at him one more time, beautiful and blonde and completely naked, holding the tissue to his bloody nose. She hated herself for still wanting the bastard, for ever thinking that she could have manipulated a master of deception.

"Someday you're going to alienate the wrong person, and you won't get off so easily."

He smiled beneath his hand. "Don't sell yourself short, Teresa, I got off, but you weren't easy by any means."

He ducked just in time to avoid his own brown shoe hurling toward his head. It banged heavily into the wall just above him.

"Go to hell," she growled, and slammed the motel room door behind her.

His cocky grin faded in her angry wake, and he surveyed the dumpy room around him, his nose aching, his heart heavy in his chest.

"Too late," he said to the emptiness, "I'm already there."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon arrived at work by 8:45 the next morning, her eyes still red from crying over her own idiocy of the night before. She should have left Jane's room when she'd had the chance, then gone to Senator Harper and asked for her fee a little sooner, paid off her blackmailer, and be done with the whole mess. Done with _him_. Now that she'd slept with him, it made things even more complicated, for as she lay awake in her own bed the night before, she realized that she'd given him even more control of her. Not only had she failed in her pathetic attempt to turn the tables on him, she'd gone and lost her heart to the bastard as well.

"Everything okay, Boss?" asked Van Pelt from the front desk. She knew a woman recovering from a crying jag when she saw one.

"No, but it will be. Please let me know when Mrs. Cleveland arrives," Lisbon said, and went into her office and shut the door.

Part of her hoped Jane wouldn't show up this morning, that maybe he'd been just as frightened as she was by their encounter. His behavior right afterwards seemed out of character, belied the gentleness he'd shown with Samantha in the nursing home, belied the passionate kisses they'd shared in her car and in the elevator. Maybe he'd been more affected by what they'd done than he'd expected, and now he was afraid of feeling real emotions for a change.

Then again, the man who'd decided to blackmail her to begin with seemed eerily similar to the man who'd asked for payment right after they'd had sex. He hadn't seemed to mind being equated with a thief, let alone a gigolo. He'd told her the man she'd seen over the past few days was the real him, and she'd wanted more than anything to believe him. She'd been so gullible it was embarrassing.

Lisbon glanced at the clock. It was 8:55. She'd already decided she would stop putting off the inevitable and get her money from Senator Harper early, despite how awkward it would be. She'd give Rigsby and Van Pelt their share, then she would go to the bank and get a personal loan for the rest, maybe even enough to pay Jane more than they'd bargained just to get him out of her life.

She was through trying to figure out who this man really was, through playing Pygmalion, through trying to get him to change. Frightened or not, whatever kind of many he was, he'd chosen how he wanted things to be between them. She had to extract herself from the situation, get him out of her life so she could begin to heal.

Before she fell irrevocably in love with her own creation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You've come a long way, Boy Wonder."

Jane was nearly late for the meeting with Kristina Cleveland, and he'd been looking down and adjusting Rigsby's damn tie when the painfully familiar voice pulled him up short. He looked frantically around for the source, the morning sun hitting him in the eyes. He squinted, and pain shot through his bruised nose. He took a step into the shadow of the office building, and there he saw him. He felt his face go pale, and anger suffused him.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?"

The man, dressed in an expensive three-piece suit of his own, dropped his cigarette butt to the pavement and stepped on it with an expensive black wingtip, blowing the last of his smoke coolly through his nose and mouth.

"Is that any way to treat an old man, Kid?"

A clipped grunt of sarcastic protest escaped Jane's throat. He certainly didn't look old. He looked just the same as the last time Jane had seen him, more than ten years before. His hair had a bit more gray at the temples, there were a few more lines around the cold blue eyes, but he certainly didn't look his sixty-five years.

"Go home, Alex," said Jane, and moved toward the door dismissively, aware that the clock was ticking, that Lisbon might punch him again if he was late for this meeting. He knew what the man wanted, and he didn't have time for it.

Quick as a cat, Alex blocked the door.

"When I saw you on the TV, I came as quickly as I could. You looked like you might be in a little over your head with this job, Kid. Thought you might need some help from an old friend."

"I'm doing just fine. This is a one-man gig, so go back to whatever still you crawled out of." Now that Jane was closer, the debonair facade of his former mentor was spoiled by the all-too-familiar stench of cheap whiskey and cigarette smoke.

"Ah-ah—not so fast. You left me high and dry down in Malibu, Boy Wonder. You owe me."

"I think we're more than square, after what you did to Angela," Jane bit out angrily. "Now get the hell out of my way before I knock you on your drunken ass."

Alex obviously wasn't moved by his threats, but he should have been. Jane's right hand formed a fist, and he was just relishing the idea of knocking the man out, no matter the consequences, when the stretch limo pulled up in front of the building, cars having to drive around it on the busy street.

Jane watched in horror as the driver helped Kristina Cleveland out of the car. The old woman looked up and she smiled as her faded eyes landed on Jane.

"Patrick! Have you been waiting for me? I'm flattered."

Jane rushed to the woman's side, hoping against hope Alex knew what was good for him and wouldn't screw this thing up for him.

"Of course, Kristina. I timed it perfectly, I see."

She laughed as giddily as a young girl, looking adoringly up at Jane's angelic face as she slipped her arm through his. Kristina couldn't help but notice the much older though just as elegant gentleman standing patiently off to the side.

"Two handsome men to greet me? And who might you be, sir?"

Alex stepped forward and Jane tensed, fuming, his green eyes shooting warning daggers at the man. But his mentor ignored him and took the old woman's hand to bring it up to his lips, a charming smile creasing his cheeks, a fake sparkle twinkling in his eyes.

"Enchante, Madame. I am Alexander, uh, Jane. Patrick's father," he said as an afterthought.

_Holy shit_, thought Jane, as the world began to spin faster beneath his feet.

**A/N: Yes, another cliffie! (I **_**am**_** fond of those ;) A little break from the case this chapter—hope you don't mind. Some of you were clamoring for more of Jane's background, so here was a bit of it. Just the tip of the iceberg though. I've left everyone in sort of a mess, but I promise to give you more soon. In the meantime, if you haven't gotten to "My Blue Christmas," by starry19, mlee write, and myself, please check it out. Lots of humor and Christmas fluff. **

**Please sign in and review. I'd love to hear from you! And in case I don't get another chance, I hope you all have a blessed and Merry Christmas!**


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Since I'm away from high-speed internet for awhile, I'll be late again on review replies, but please know I read and appreciate every one, and I hope you keep reviewing because they really motivate me!

Last chapter, I admit Jane was a total ass. That was a glimpse of how "Fugue in Red" Jane operated, and how I think he would have been without Angela, and how he sometimes was in his tunnel vision concerning Red John. But there's no Red John here, and he never married Angela, so our dear Teresa must fight to find the real man beneath. I hope this chapter helps explain a bit more about who Jane is, at least in this fic.

**Chapter 8**

Lisbon tried not to act too surprised when Kristina Cleveland walked in on Jane's arm. To say that she was conflicted about seeing him again was an understatement, and the jump of her heart at the flood of sensual images knocked her momentarily off balance. But she forced a smile for their client's benefit, and invited them into her—Patrick Jane's—office. She was also surprised to see a strange man walking directly behind Mrs. Cleveland's driver, and at first Lisbon assumed he was with the old woman. But then he broke away from Kristina and went directly to her.

"Aw, Ms. Lisbon, I presume. I saw you on television alongside my son the other day."

Lisbon's eyes shot to Jane's. "Your son?" she repeated in disbelief. "I had no idea you were in town, Mr. uh—"

"Jane," he said with a knowing grin.

"Oh, yes, of course."

"Look, this is sort of a private meeting," Jane was saying to his "father" in a clipped tone. "So, if you'll excuse us…"

"Oh, please, he's welcome to stay," said Kristina. "It's not like we're giving away state secrets or anything."

Lisbon and Jane exchanged looks, Jane shaking his head once in warning. "I'm sorry Mr. Jane," said Lisbon, "but I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to wait outside for a bit. Client confidentiality and all, you understand."

"Certainly."

He left to wait in the reception area, and Van Pelt and Rigsby joined them in the office, Jane shutting the door behind them. His heart was still pounding with all the uncertainty around him. There was nothing worse for a long con than to have something—or _someone_—throw him an unexpected curve ball. It was a good thing Lisbon's own interests depended upon her not asking any difficult questions in front of her client, but he had no doubt she'd demand an explanation later.

"We've come to believe," began Lisbon, trying to push out of her mind all this strange business with Jane's so-called father, "that your husband might have been involved in some sort of confidential informant capacity right after World War II, or maybe even before. Did you know anything about that?"

Kristina didn't answer the question directly. "How did you discover this?"

"We have our sources," said Jane, briefly meeting Lisbon's eyes. This was her chance now to tell Kristina all about Samantha Hawkins's affair with Derek. Why besmirch Samantha's memory now, or cause Kristina any more pain?

"That's right," said Lisbon. "And they wish to remain anonymous."

Jane gave her a slight smile, which she did not return. No doubt she was still mad at him for calling her out on her attempted seduction the night before. His nose—and other parts—throbbed just thinking about it.

"I've heard the rumors," said Kristina. "But I believe in my heart he's dead, killed by my father-in-law's enemies. But you think he was some sort of spy? I don't believe it. Derek was no rat."

"We are still waiting for other information to come in. All of this happened a long time ago, you understand," said Lisbon.

"Yes, we hope to have this for you soon," said Jane. "My entire team has been working on this around the clock," he lied. "But unless you can shed some more light on what Derek might have been into, the wheels are going to turn a bit more slowly."

Kristina seemed to consider her next words carefully. "Samantha Hawkins knows something," she said.

Lisbon shook her head. "She passed away night before last. I'm afraid we won't be able to ask her anything now."

"What?" Kristina said, but Jane didn't think she was too surprised. His eyes narrowed. Something wasn't right here.

"You hadn't heard?" asked Jane.

"Of course not. Why would I?"

"Because you've visited her in the nursing home before. Weren't you two friends?"asked Lisbon.

"No," sniffed Kristina. "That harlot had no friends."

Jane made a gentle tsking sound. "You misled us, Kristina. You knew the identity of the witness who saw your husband get into that car. Why didn't you just say so before? Would have saved us some work."

"Because I knew going through Samantha would lead you nowhere. She's a stubborn old bat—always has been."

Lisbon was very tempted to spill what they'd found out about the "old bat" and Kristina's husband. She felt Jane's heavy gaze upon her, and she found she didn't want to add to Kristina's suffering. She said nothing.

"Why do you call her a harlot?" asked Van Pelt.

"Because after her husband died, she fucked everything that moved, young woman," said Kristina coldly. The way Van Pelt's mouth fell open at her crudity was almost comical. "It wouldn't really surprise me if she had been the woman who'd lured Derek into that car that day," Kristina continued. "She struck out with him, so she concocted some crazy story about Derek leaving with another woman."

"You don't really believe that," stated Jane.

The old woman met his eyes and sighed. "No," she said after a moment. "I frankly don't know what to believe, even after all these years. That's why I hired you. I should have told you about Samantha, but I thought you might take a different approach, one that I hadn't tried yet."

"And we have," said Lisbon. "Give us another day or two, and we should have some more information for you. We'll call you, but if you think of anything else we should know…"

Jane went to Kristina, offering his arm to help her to her feet. "Don't hold out on us this time," he told her sternly.

Kristina only smiled. "You are so like my Derek. Always giving orders."

Jane grinned. "A man would have to be pretty forceful to keep up with you, unless he enjoyed being your doormat."

"No doormats for me, Patrick," she said, her eyes sparkling.

Jane smiled down at her. "As I thought."

In the lobby, Kristina eyed Alex, who was idly smoking another cigarette beneath the _No Smoking_ sign, while he lounged in a waiting room chair. He caught Lisbon's frown.

"Mr. Jane," Kristina said to Alex, as he politely rose to his feet. "You should be very proud of your son here. He's a brilliant young man."

"Oh, I'm _very_ proud, Madame; I taught the boy everything he knows," said Alex, with a familiar charming grin.

Kristina said her good-byes, and her driver escorted her out.

The moment their client was gone, Jane unceremoniously grabbed the cigarette from Alex's mouth, putting it out in a potted plant before taking the older man's arm.

"Might I have a word in my office, _Dad_?" he bit out sarcastically.

"But—" began Lisbon. She wanted answers, just as Jane had known she would, but he held up his hand for her to wait. He could only put out one fire at a time.

Lisbon watched them go into her office, fury building within her anew. She hated more than anything not knowing what the hell was going on, especially in her own place of business. She looked at Rigsby and Van Pelt warily, then, reaching into her blazer jacket pocket, she took out the small baggy she'd used in Jane's motel room the night before. She walked over to the potted plant, gingerly retrieving Alex's cigarette butt, adding it to the strands of Jane's hair and razor stubble. She presented the bag to Grace.

"Messenger this to Cho," she said. "Let's find out who the hell these people really are."

"Yes, Boss."

"I'll take it to him," Rigsby volunteered, and Lisbon nodded.

From behind her office door came the sound of muffled voices. Lisbon sighed and retreated to the empty office next door. Once inside, she pressed her ear to the wall to listen.

"…I don't owe you shit," Jane was saying. "Now get the hell out of here before I call the cops and have your ass carted off to jail where you belong."

"I don't think you'll do that, Kid," replied Alex confidently. "Because on my way out, I'll just tell the lovely Ms. Lisbon who you really are, that you came from the lowest of the low."

"Go ahead. She already knows anyway," he lied, and Lisbon covered her mouth on a gasp. "Why do you think she hired me to impersonate this Jane character? She knows how could I am at a con. I'm good for business, so she won't be letting me go anytime soon."

Alex chuckled softly. "Remember who you're speaking to, Kid. You're bluffing. But I know one thing for sure, Ms. Lisbon certainly wouldn't want the press to get hold of the truth behind the great Mr. Jane, would she?"

There was a silence during which Lisbon held her breath. Whoever this person was, it was one more nefarious person who knew her secret, who could use the information against her. Given her Jane impersonator's behavior last night, if things went south, if he was forced to share his ill-gotten gains, she didn't trust him to keep to their bargain. He'd likely demand more money. This Alex person was an even bigger wild card, and Lisbon felt herself hovering at the edge of a precipice, her whole world about to collapse around her, leaving her no other choice but to jump.

Suddenly, the wall behind her ear vibrated with a loud thump, as if something—or someone—had been thrust hard against it. She jumped back in surprise, then leaned in closer again as Jane's voice became crystal clear.

"If you do one thing to mess this up for her, or for me, I'll strangle you with my bare hands, you hear me…_Dad_?"

But the older man was laughing again, apparently unfazed by Jane's threats of violence.

"Aw," Alex said. "Got it pretty bad for the girl, eh? You've committed the cardinal sin of the trade, my boy-falling for your mark."

"Shut up," Jane replied, but his voice was farther away again, and Lisbon couldn't tell what his tone revealed.

"Just give me half of your take, and I'll be gone on the next plane."

"_Half_?" Jane said, outraged anew.

"You heard me. This business is going to be a cash cow for you if you stick it out awhile, make yourself invaluable to her. I'm sure you could finagle your way into a steady job, seeing as you've likely already gotten her into bed. That's your usual M-O, right?"

On the other side of the wall, Lisbon felt angry tears pricking her eyes.

"What if I just kill you now, Alex? Put us both out of our misery?" Jane's voice had gone dangerously low.

"Do it. Please. I'd have done it ten years ago if I'd had the guts."

"God knows you deserve it," said Jane. "After Angela."

"Don't forget part of that is on you, Kid, but you've gotten right back up on that horse. I've got nothing to lose; but you and Ms. Lisbon certainly do."

They were quiet again, and Lisbon thought she heard the sound of pacing.

"Fine," said Jane, sounding resigned. "It might be another week before I get the money though. Where are you staying?"

Alex laughed without humor. "Oh, no you don't. I'm your new best friend until you get that money, Boy Wonder. We'll be joined at the hip, you and me. And don't even think about bilking me, or the clouds will open and shit will rain all over that pretty new girlfriend of yours, and I'll see to it you get a good soaking as well."

"As soon as you get the money, we're done, do you hear me? I never want to see you again, or I might call _your _bluff and blow your goddamn head off."

Lisbon heard the door to her office open, and two pairs of feet entering the lobby.

"Lisbon," Jane called, and sheepishly, she came out of the spare office. Van Pelt looked up from her place at the reception desk, eyeing the trio warily. Something was going down, and she had a cold wave of fear because of it. Jane smiled blandly at her, then turned to Lisbon.

"The old man and I are going for now. I'll see you later."

"We both will," added Alex. Jane threw up his hands in surrender, then left the office, Alex trailing behind him, just like he'd promised.

"What was that all about?" asked Van Pelt.

"I have no idea," said Lisbon, though that wasn't strictly true. Things were actually starting to fall into place, and she was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon watched Jane's motel room that evening from her Mustang, and when she saw Alex leave and stumble toward the bar across the street, she went to his door.

"Jane," she said, pounding once. "It's me. Open up."

The man who answered looked haggard and drained—a far cry from the usually put together and suave con man she'd come to expect the past few days.

"Teresa," he said tiredly, "I was wondering when I'd hear from you."

"Can I come in?"

He stepped aside and allowed her to enter. "By all means."

The place was a wreck, littered with empty pizza boxes and reeking of alcohol. Alex had apparently moved in.

"I want the truth," she said. "The truth, or I'm going to the police, my business be damned."

"Which particular truth do you mean?" he hedged, sitting on the couch with a sigh.

"Is that man really your father?"

"I have no idea," he said, surprising her. She sat numbly on the unmade bed. She waited expectantly for more, and then he abruptly gave in. "You heard our conversation in your office this morning."

"Yes."

He smiled a little. "I figured. I suppose I may as well tell you who I am. Dear Old Dad is just dying to tell you himself, so at least I can beat him to the punch for a change. I'm sure you've already figured out some of it."

Lisbon nodded. "I think so. But I'd really love to hear it from you."

He held her eyes. "Firstly, I'm sorry about the way things ended last night. You uh, sort of took me off guard."

She blushed, a flash of anger lighting her forest green eyes. "It seemed to me you had my feeble attempt at double cross figured out the moment I attempted it. How the hell did I take _you_ off guard?"

"Alex was right; you're supposed to be my mark, and I shouldn't give a shit what happens to you, or what happens with the Cleveland case, or with your firm, but I find that I do."

Hope sprang within her heart as she looked at him, so incredibly beautiful to her, yet so infuriating and capable of great cruelty. She was a fool to still want him, after all he'd said and done to her.

"So you've decided to stop blackmailing me?"

He looked down at his scuffed brown shoes, yet another strange contradiction to the expensive suit he wore. "I can't," he said simply. "You heard why."

"What I heard is that now this man who may or may not be your father is blackmailing you into blackmailing me." Her face softened. "I heard what you said to him, about his threatening me."

He met her eyes then, and within his sea green gaze she saw such a mixture of emotions that she couldn't begin to parse them.

"Pretty hypocritical of me," he said wryly. "But even if I wanted to get out of this, I couldn't. Teresa, this man is ruthless. He has no soul, no capacity for sympathy or regret. We'd both do well to pay him off and be done with him."

Her eyes narrowed suddenly. "This isn't some double bluff, some long con to get me to pay even more? Because, like I said, I'm to the point of just chucking it all and—"

"No," he countered. "I don't want him here anymore than you do, believe me. It's been ten years since I've seen him. I thought I'd gotten free…"

She longed to move to the couch and sit beside him, seeing in him again the kind aspect of his nature, the war that he fought within himself between the man that he was and the man he wanted to be. But she was still wary, still afraid that she wasn't going to get out of this mess without an empty wallet or worse: a broken heart.

"You said you'd tell me everything," she prompted. "Tell me now, before he comes back from the bar."

Jane smirked. She'd been watching his door again.

"My mother died when I was two," he began. "There's no record of my birth, since from all accounts I was born in 1969 in an Airstream trailer of a carnival troupe. My mother had been a sideshow performer—The Incredible Mermaid Lady—all I have left of her is an old flyer with a cartoon drawing of what I assume was her. I don't know how she died, or even where she was buried. I only know her name was Rose—no one around at that time seemed to remember her last name."

"No death certificate?"

"I doubt it. Carnies take care of their own. I imagine she was illegally buried somewhere along the carnival circuit somewhere in California. Alex took me in, and told me my whole life that no one else wanted me, and that only God and my dead mother—and maybe not even her—knew who my real father was."

"Alex and your mother didn't-?"

"I don't know. The only person I know who knew my mother and Alex back at that time was Teddy Ruskin, the owner of the carnival, and he wasn't sure what her relationship with Alex was, or my mother's full name for that matter. He mostly paid his employees off the books, if you know what I mean."

"What's _your_ name?" Lisbon asked softly.

He laughed sheepishly. "I don't even know. I've only ever been called Kid or Boy Wonder—after my psychic show with the carnival. I have no idea what my mother named me. And if Alex _is_ my father, I'm not even sure of his real last name. He's gone by so many over the years."

"You didn't go to school?" There would be official records there.

"Nope. Some of the ladies with the sideshow taught me to read, and I taught myself everything else from books I'd steal from libraries in the towns we passed through. Everything else Alex taught me, from picking locks to picking pockets. He taught me how to read people, and when he saw I was particularly good at it, he created my boy psychic show. I made him a good living for a while. And then I met Angela Ruskin."

"The owner's daughter?"

"Yes."

"You and Alex argued about her. She seemed…important to you."

"She'd come to track down her father on the carnival circuit, and I fell instantly in love with her."

"What happened to her?" Lisbon asked, and she tried not to feel unreasonably jealous of the way he'd spoken of this woman from his past.

"Alex was driving drunk, and he killed her."

Lisbon gasped. "Oh, my God."

"Angela and I were planning to get married, and Alex was all for that. He figured I'd inherit everything and repay all his years of abuse and neglect with a tidy piece of the Ruskin Attractions legacy. I didn't want any part of that money. Angela and I were going to leave the carnival, start our lives over in the real world. She'd rarely seen her father growing up—she and her mother had left him long before—and we didn't want to subject our own children to such a life. Alex didn't take the news well. We fought, and I—I threw my car keys at him, told him to get the hell out. Angela and I took a walk that night, hoping I'd cool down, but when Alex came back from the bar, his car swerved and he sideswiped us. I jumped clear, but Angela didn't make it."

"He was drunk," Lisbon said. "Why didn't he go to jail for it?"

"I panicked. I told everyone it was a hit and run, but I recognized the car. Alex was so drunk I know he didn't see us. He didn't even stop; just drove off. Besides, I felt just as guilty as he was—I'd given him the keys when I knew he was already half drunk. But I covered for him, even in the midst of the police investigation, because that's what carnies do."

"Did he remember doing it the next day?" she asked.

"Vaguely. By the time I got back to the trailer, he was out cold on his bed, sleeping it off. There was no damage to the car—he hadn't hit us that hard. I had a broken arm from the fall, but Angela…she hit her head on the pavement. Medical Examiner said she'd died instantly. The next morning he cried like a baby when I told him what he'd done. I left the day after the funeral, and I haven't seen him since. Until today."

His eyes had welled up in the course of his sad tale, and he brushed at them now in irritation.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It was a long time ago." But he had clearly not recovered completely, although he seemed to have gotten on with his life, albeit shady-if being a gigolo, a fraud, and a blackmailer could be considered living.

"So, Patrick Jane hasn't been the first false name you've assumed, I take it."

"No. Every job I've been someone new. Christian Thompson. Nick Fallin. Brian Kelly. And my personal favorite, Roderick Blank."

She smiled a little. "And now you're Patrick Jane."

He shrugged. "It pays the bills."

She looked around at the mess that was his motel room. "You could leave now, go somewhere else, become someone new again. Disappear into the night like you said you would from the beginning." It pained her to think of him gone, but she had to think of her business, of her partners.

"I could," he admitted. "To tell you the truth, it is my first instinct to run when things get too hot. I could get out now, let Alex take over the blackmailing gig."

He got up and walked over to the bed, squatting down before her and taking her cold hands in his. He stared deeply into her eyes, and she felt her heart picking up speed as she remembered what they'd done on this bed mere hours before.

He laced his fingers through hers. "I don't know what it is, but for some reason, I'm suddenly tired of running."

Despite his outward appearance of sincerity, she was proud of herself that she wasn't fully convinced. It would be so easy to believe him, to allow him to take her in his arms and fall into bed again.

"I can think of fifty thousand reasons why you're sticking around," she said instead.

"Come on, Teresa. Last night was—"

"Last night you made me feel like a fool."

"I'm said I was sorry for that. And hey, you did get in a bit of revenge. My nose still hurts like a son-of-a-bitch. Doesn't that make up for anything?"

"Oh, it helps, but there's only one way I will ever believe you, and I'm pretty sure you can figure it out, Boy Wonder."

He flinched.

"Stop blackmailing you?"

"Yes," she replied, squeezing his hands imploringly. "That would be a start."

**A/N: So, what do you think of this modified back-story? Next up, Samantha Hawkins's funeral, and the Derek Cleveland mystery finally comes to a head. See you back here again soon, I hope!**

**P.S.: In case you hadn't noticed, the conclusion of my three-way fic, "My Blue Christmas" was posted the other day. Please check it out!**


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: So glad so many seem to be enjoying this fic. Thanks for the reviews and follows, especially those going back and reading my older stories too. And welcome new readers! This chapter is the beginning of the end, so expect a surprise or two.

**Chapter 9**

Lisbon wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but against her good intentions, she soon found herself on her back on a motel bed, being thoroughly kissed by a very aroused Jane. Something about finally entrusting his secrets to someone must have triggered some latent passion in him, making him even more ardent than the night before. His kisses were deep and drugging and without any sort of artifice.

"I'm not giving you the money," she said against his mouth.

"Okay," he replied, moving to her jaw, then her ear. He took the delicate lobe into his mouth, suckling it a moment before saying: "You have to give it to Alex though, or you're out of business."

"Did you tell him how much I was going to pay you?" she asked, her hands busy on his shirt buttons.

"I said twenty-five thousand."

She laughed. "You would have kept the balance for yourself, wouldn't you? You were willing to risk my agency if he found out you double-crossed him?"

He paused and looked into her eyes. "He'll take what money I give him and he'll leave, or I call Angela's family."

Her hands came up to his face. "That's still a lot of money I can't afford."

"I'm sorry."

Suddenly, he sat up, extricating himself from her tempting arms. "As soon as the money comes in, I'll see to it Alex never bothers you again either."

"How?"

"Don't worry about it."

She didn't like the ominous way he said that.

Jane looked at her now, chest heaving with passion, lips full and pink from their kisses. She was so amazingly tempting. He shook his head at what he was about to say.

"You should probably go. Alex might be back at any minute. He only went out because the alcohol's gone. It would be better if he didn't know I've told you everything; otherwise, he might demand more money."

Heart still pounding frantically, she sat up as well, righting her clothes again.

She stood, feeling disoriented, both by her interrupted passion as well as all the surprising information this meeting had garnered. He walked her to the door, peeped out, then nodded to her that it was all clear.

Before she left, he kissed her once more. "I'm going to try to make this right, Teresa," he told her. "I don't blame you for not trusting me, but I'm going to try to earn your trust somehow.."

"Okay." And she gave him a smile. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

He nodded, then smiled wryly. "Me and my shadow."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alex pounded on Jane's motel door twenty minutes later, a bottle of cheap whiskey in his hand.

"Open up, Kid," he hollered drunkenly.

With disheartening déjà vu, Jane opened the door, his former guardian stumbling inside.

"Keep it down, will ya?" chastised Jane in annoyance. "I have to live here."

Alex looked around the cluttered room in bewilderment. "Why?" Then he paused, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.

"Ms. Lisbon was here." He went over to the bed, rumpled now in a different way from when he'd left it. "Must have been a quickie, eh? I haven't been gone more than forty-five minutes."

"Forty-five minutes isn't a quickie," Jane pointed out, not bothering to correct him about what had happened—or hadn't happened-in the bed.

"For me it is," said Alex, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously.

"Look," said Jane, sighing tiredly, "it's late. I have to go in to work tomorrow. Go to bed and sleep it off, why don't you?"

Jane was letting him have the bed, since it was easier than hearing him complain about his back. Jane stripped down to his underwear, then grabbed the extra pillow and blanket from the closet shelf. He'd take the couch.

"You have to go into work," Alex said mockingly, setting down his bottle by the bed. "Boy does she have you by the balls. No way in hell I'd ever work for a woman. A little control in the sack is okay, but outside, give 'em an inch…"

He staggered to the bathroom and shut the door. Jane settled on the couch, but after fifteen minutes, when Alex didn't come out of the bathroom and he heard no sounds of life, he got off the couch in annoyance. He went to the door and knocked.

"Alex? Hurry the hell up. It's my turn in the bathroom."

But there was no reply, and still no sound. He pounded on the door again.

"Shit," Jane muttered.

He turned the knob, and finding it locked, went to his suit coat and retrieved his lock picks. In a matter of seconds, he was in, only to find Alex on the floor, passed out cold.

"Jesus Christ," he swore. He knelt by the man, slapping his face hard to rouse him.

"Huh?"

The drunk began lashing out with his arms to fend off his imaginary attacker. Jane leaned out of the way at first, then got hold of the older man's arms, pinning them to his side so he wouldn't get hit.

"Wake up, Dad," said Jane. The memory of other times as a young man when he'd had to see to Alex after he'd come home from a bender came crashing painfully back. Somewhat revived, he looked blearily up at Jane.

"Kid?"

"Yeah, it's me. Let's get your ass into bed."

Both of them stumbled into the bedroom, Alex a heavy weight on Jane's shoulder. He pulled off Alex's shoes and suit coat, then threw the bedspread over him as best he could.

"I'm sorry, Kid," Alex slurred. "I always treated you like shit. But the truth is, you got better at the game than I ever was. When you wanted to go out on your own, where did that leave me?"

Jane hardened his heart, despite the drunken tears now falling freely down the wretched man's face.

"Shut up and go to sleep." Jane had heard this all before, and he wasn't about to take the blame for Alex turning into a pathetic drunk. As a kid, Alex had only come back to the trailer drunk after payday, but apparently since Jane had left, he'd turned into this mess of a human being.

"And Angela. God, I'm sorry. She was such a pretty thing. But she was going to take you away from me. I didn't see her that night, I swear. You should have killed me back then, Kid. I would have if I were you."

"Yeah, I should have. I still might."

Jane shut off the bedside lamp, then went back to the couch, willing Alex to shut up so they both could go to sleep.

"Come and work with me again, Kid. We were a great team."

"There's not enough money in the world, old man," said Jane. But by the sounds of his snores, Alex had finally fallen asleep.

It was still a long time before Jane could.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Funerals should be dark and rainy, Lisbon had always thought. But this was California, and the odds of being buried on a rainy day were pretty slim. Samantha Hawkins's graveside service was sparsely attended, which is what sometimes happened when one died at such an old age; she'd outlived most of her friends, and most all of her family. Lisbon counted ten mourners at the funeral, most of whom seemed to be her grandson, his wife, and their offspring. Lisbon and Jane made up the balance, along with Jane's would-be father, who hung back away from the service, dark glasses and disheveled suit obviously hiding a hangover. He stood under a tree, smoking a cigarette with shaky hands.

Jane, looking tired himself, stood by Lisbon's side at the graveside, neither of them really listening to the minister who hadn't seemed to know Samantha at all. The service had just begun when a familiar limousine pulled up, and Kristina Cleveland was escorted across the cemetery lawn by her driver. She wore a long mink coat and a black hat with a feather. They halted on the other side of Jane to stare morosely at the dead woman's casket. She held a single white lily in her crepey hand.

Toward the end of the service, Lisbon felt Jane's hand touch hers, and when she looked at him askance, he nodded toward a nearby willow tree. An old man, still handsome, with a shock of white hair, stood at a distance, and Lisbon knew immediately it was Derek Cleveland. He looked like Jane might in forty year's time, down to the sparkling blue-green gaze and laugh lines on his cheeks and around his eyes. Lisbon's eyes flew to Kristina, who looked up at that moment to see her estranged husband.

"Derek," she whispered, and Jane and her driver caught her just as her legs nearly collapsed beneath her. "I'm all right," she said, shrugging off their help. The minister finished his sermon, and Kristina stood regally, one hand in her pocket, waiting for Derek to approach.

The small crowd of mourners had begun to disperse, Samantha's family oblivious to the potential drama. Derek, leaning heavily on a cane, closed the distance across the green lawn of the cemetery to stand before his wife.

"Derek Cleveland, I presume?" said Jane.

The old man nodded, but his eyes were on Kristina.

He reached out a hand, which Kristina either didn't see, or blithely ignored.

"Hello, Kristina. It's been a long time."

"Yes," said his wife coldly. "So it has."

"I'm sorry, Kristina," he said, his glassy green eyes filled with regret.

"I thought you were dead. Now that I see you're not, I wish you had been."

"Kristina, you don't understand—"

"Oh, I think I do." She nodded toward Samantha Hawkins's grave, the lily still clutched in her hand. "Now that I see you're here, it is all becoming very clear to me. You were sleeping with her, and you left me to live in sin with that bitch. What a goddamn coward you were."

Everyone around them was shocked to hear such language coming from such an elderly woman.

Derek shook his head. "It wasn't that way. Well, not exactly. I had to leave. I had no choice."

"You could have taken me with you." This was said with a distinct hitch in her throat.

"No, I couldn't have. And you damn well know why." The old man was suddenly very angry.

Kristina was taken aback. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I know about your dealings with my father. You two were as thick as thieves."

"I don't know what you mean," she said, still apparently shocked.

Derek looked around, then lowered his voice, having attracted disapproving attention from the minister and the dispersing mourners.

"Let's go somewhere else where we can discuss this in private."

"Yes," concurred the minister, having come forward to intervene. "I don't think this is really the time or place."

But no one moved. The minister threw up his hands and went to speak to the undertaker.

"Come on, Kristina," Jane said softly, taking her frail arm. He noticed in alarm she was shaking a bit. "You're getting overly upset. Let's get you back to your car—"

"No! I finally have this lying bastard in front of me, and I intend to settle this once and for all. I knew if you'd been this harlot's lover, you'd come out of hiding for her funeral. And wasn't I right? I should have killed the bitch long ago, just so I could flush you out."

Lisbon gasped at what sounded very much like a confession. "Mrs. Cleveland! You didn't—"

But she was ignoring everyone now but her husband. She had sixty years to wind up for her tirade, and nothing was going to stop her from having her say at last.

"If you were leaving for good, you should have told me, at least written me a letter, instead of making me think you were dead! I wasted so many years mourning you, missing you. And what about our children! You left me to take care of them alone."

"You had my father to help," said Derek tightly.

"Ha! What a joke!" And then she hit Derek with the lily she held, the flower falling apart, white petals and green leaves floating to the grass. Jane and the driver moved to restrain her.

From beneath the nearby willow, Alex watched the mounting spectacle with amused interest, despite the fact that his head pounded like a freight train, and his cigarette was actually just making him feel more nauseous. He should have eaten when the kid told him to, but the thought of eggs…he shuddered. He supposed he should have been used to hangovers, but seeing Rose's boy again after all these years had made him overdo it, the guilt getting to him in a big way. Alex didn't remember exactly what he'd said to him the night before, but he was fairly certain it was sappy and weepy and uncharacteristically weak.

This morning he'd wished he'd stayed in bed, but he wasn't about to let the kid out of his sight so he could double-cross him. He'd get his money, then he'd be gone; there was no use trying to mend fences with the kid. Ungrateful bastard. After all he'd done for him, he couldn't forgive him one little mistake.

Alex watched now how deftly the boy handled the old bat, trying to get her to calm herself. Then, ever observant from his long years of showmanship, Alex's eyes were drawn to the old woman's right hand, which, despite her wild gesticulations with her left, remained firmly in her mink coat pocket. His eyes narrowed, and his sixth sense kicked in, in spite of his headache. He stepped on his cigarette and moved toward the small group.

Everything happened very quickly.

"Kristina," Derek was saying, his face softening at beholding how upset his wife—now so old and frail—had become.

"Go to hell, you cowardly son-of-a-bitch!"

"Gun!" exclaimed Alex, just as Kristina Cleveland drew out a pistol from her coat pocket. No one likely heard him, however; the gunshot having come at the very instant he'd cried out. The bullet, coming from the shaking gun of an old woman, went wide.

The burning pain slammed into Alex's chest and he reeled backward with the force and pain of it. He sat heavily on the ground, his hand going in shock to the bleeding wound near his heart. Around Kristina, there was sudden pandemonium. Jane had managed to grab hold of the woman's hand, the gun going off again, this time into the air. He wrested the weapon away from her, and the driver took hold of both of her arms, holding her back. She sobbed in anguish.

Derek stood, paralyzed, amazed that he had missed being hit at such short range. The minister and undertaker ducked behind the raised casket, peeping behind it after a moment to see what was going on. The undertaker took out his phone and tapped in 911. It was Lisbon, the former cop, who realized what had happened when she saw Alex on the ground.

"Jane! Your dad!"

Jane's eyes flew to the direction of the willow tree. Alex lay on his back now, blood staining his white dress shirt. Kristina safely in hand, Lisbon followed Jane as he trotted the few yards to Alex. She squatted down beside him, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the bleeding man's shirt.

"Jesus," muttered Jane.

"Someone call an ambulance!" she yelled. Then she turned to Jane and said calmly: "You have a handkerchief?"

Jane reached into his trouser pocket and handed it to her. She pressed it on the wound. Alex was breathing erratically, his eyes closed, his face white as his shirt.

"Roll him to his side so I can see if the bullet went all the way through," she ordered. He did, and Alex gave an unconscious moan of pain.

"I don't think it did," said Jane, growing pale himself.

"Damn," she said softly. "Okay. He's breathing well enough. Let's just keep pressure on it. Alex? Can you hear me?"

There was no reply. Lisbon didn't like the location of the wound. It seemed scarily close to his heart; the bullet might have even nicked it.

"You all right?" she asked Jane?

He met her eyes, and, given his recent angry words toward this man, she was surprised to see the deep concern there.

"I'm fine," he said, his lips pale and tightly pursed.

The blood was already seeping through the handkerchief. "Find me something else to staunch the blood."

Jane took off his jacket and vest and gave Lisbon the shirt off his back. Her eyes widened at the unexpected sight of his smooth, bare chest, and then he was putting his white linen shirt in place of her hands on Alex's wound.

In the distance, they could hear the approach of sirens.

**A/N: Firstly, please excuse any medical or technical mistakes I might have made. I'm no Karl ;) One more chapter of this little tale, in which I shall hopefully tie up the loose ends much better than they did those concerning Red John. Thanks for reading, and reviews are always lovely :). I'm behind (again) in answering, but I hope to do so soon. I'm hoping also for the inspiration to write a tag for the next episode, so please keep a look out.**


	10. Conclusion

A/N: Sorry for the lateness of this chapter. It's been a busy couple of weeks for me, with school starting again, but also, quite honestly, this concluding chapter was more difficult to write than I expected. I hope I adequately tied things up for you, and balanced it with enough romance along the way (the end is slightly M-rated).

I'll stop yammering and let you decide for yourself.

**Chapter 10**

Jane sat in the hospital waiting room while Alex was in surgery. He didn't feel sad exactly, nor did he feel fear or even anger. He was numb to all the expected emotions one would have if the man who'd raised you had been shot. Lisbon had stayed behind at the cemetery, speaking to the police (she still had a few friends with SACPD) while Kristina Cleveland waited in the back of a squad car, her frail wrists in handcuffs, tears streaking her lined face.

In the midst of the chaos of the ambulance's arrival, Jane had looked around to find Derek Cleveland had disappeared again, as if he hadn't even been there at all. At this point, Jane didn't much care about Cleveland's whereabouts anymore, except he would have liked to have known where he'd been these sixty-five years—just out of personal curiosity.

Jane leaned against the uncomfortable chair back, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep. He felt tremendously exhausted, the last few days' drama—sleeping with Lisbon, the arrival of his long-lost guardian—having drained him of any excess energy. He might have dozed when he felt a familiar small hand on his knee. He slowly opened his eyes to see her, looking haggard herself though beautiful, even beneath the fluorescent lights of the waiting room. He managed a crooked smile.

"Hey," he said. "Sorry to have left you with that mess."

She shook her head, not returning his smile. "_Mess_ is an understatement. The DA is reluctant to press charges against an eighty-five-year-old woman, and yet, a man's been shot—you see the conundrum. Regardless, I'm sure she'll be out on bail soon." She paused. "Any word on your—on Alex?"

"No," he said simply. "But the surgery might take a few hours, given the proximity to his heart." His smile became wry. "Hm, maybe the miracle of the day will be discovering he actually has one."

She frowned at his off mood. "The doctors are good here. Would you like anything? Some tea?"

"I would. Let's both go to the cafeteria. I need a stretch."

They took their purchases outside into a small courtyard off the waiting room, settling on two opposing wrought-iron benches. Lisbon grimaced at the too-bitter coffee; likewise Jane at the cheap teabag selection. At least the blueberry muffin was passable. He broke off half and gave it to Lisbon.

"Did you see Derek Cleveland anywhere?" Jane asked her, lifting his face up to the warm California sun.

"No. He disappeared, like a ghost. The police wanted a few words with him, too…That was quite a scene," she marveled, remembering the drama of the husband and wife reunion.

"So, our elderly client attempted premeditated murder. I have to say, I didn't see that coming. I knew she was keeping things from us, but she hid it well. I don't know about you, but I feel sort of…used."

She raised her eyebrows at that.

"So, she suspected the affair with Samantha Hawkins. Can you imagine, going through life with that desire for vengeance festering inside of you?"

"No," said Jane, eyes closed. "What a waste of time." They both thought then of Alex, responsible for Angela's death, and Jane realized he'd accomplished nothing by carrying around his hatred for the old man all these years. He certainly could have killed him in retaliation, but that wouldn't have brought Angela back.

"Having Kristina in jail leaves you in a bit of a lurch, doesn't it?" he said after a moment. "You'll be getting no blood from that old turnip."

Lisbon sighed at that sudden realization. "Well, she paid the retainer at least. So, if you're still wanting blood from me, you'll just have to wait—you and poor Alex."

Jane lowered his chin and looked at her. "I told you, I've given that up, Teresa. Your money isn't what I want from you."

She felt her heart pick up a bit at the intensity in his eyes. She wanted to trust him, but she was so used to being on her guard with him, to trying to predict what he might do, that she wasn't able to relax completely. He read her expression well, however, and his lips quirked up wryly at the corners.

"I don't blame you for doubting me. I'll just have to prove it, I suppose."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be."

He sipped his tea from the Styrofoam cup, and she did likewise with her coffee. They enjoyed the warmth of the outside air for a few moments, sharing the muffin, lost in their own thoughts. Then Jane caught sight of a diminutive, though muscular man at the sliding glass door, his expression completely blank. He was Korean. _Aw_, thought Jane. _Cho._

Lisbon looked up as the door to the courtyard slid open.

"Cho," she said brightly.

"Boss."

She looked helplessly at Jane. "This is—well, Patrick Jane at the moment."

Jane rose to shake the man's hand, but he coldly ignored it, barely sparing him a disapproving glance. He had little tolerance for the man blackmailing his former boss. Jane sat back down with a grin. He had nothing but respect for a man so loyal to Lisbon.

"Rigsby told me you were here," said Cho by way of explanation.

He handed her a manila envelope, thick and weighty. She accepted it with two hands, and glanced briefly at Jane before opening it. Jane could smell the mustiness reminiscent of a dark, dusty basement the moment Lisbon pulled out a file folder, _FBI _stamped upon it in faded black ink. It was labeled, _Derek Cleveland._

"He was an FBI informant," Cho said, cutting to the chase. "His father, John, was a suspected gangster and communist sympathizer. So was Kristina Frye."

Lisbon looked up at that. "Kristina too?"

"Yeah. She'd gone by her mother's Irish maiden name, but her father had been Russian—Pasternak. She and her mother were able to sneak out of Stalinist Russia after her father was executed for a traitor."

"Huh," said Jane. He'd been right, apparently, at least about why Derek had disappeared. Everyone during that post-war time with any Russian connections would have been suspect.

"They couldn't pin anything on either Cleveland's father or his wife at the time though," Cho continued, as Lisbon flipped through the file. She squinted down at old black and white photos of a young Derek and Kristina. "But later they were interviewed during the McCarthy hearings in the 1950's for John Cleveland's association with certain suspicious Hollywood elements, but they were cleared."

"If they'd found nothing, initially," said Lisbon, "why did Derek have to leave?"

"He'd ratted out several of John Cleveland's business associates. Some suspected commies, but mostly for organized crime. He—and the FBI, apparently—feared for his life."

"Where's he been?" asked Jane.

Cho replied to Lisbon, as if _she'd _asked the question.

_He's about as cold as they come_, Jane thought in amusement.

"He's been in Montana. Changed his name. Married a local girl, worked her father's farm. Had a calm, quiet life, from what I gathered."

"He made it back to California for the occasional rendezvous with Samantha Hawkins, however," noted Jane.

"I don't think the FBI knew about that," said Cho with his trademark dryness, looking directly at Jane for the first time.

Lisbon handed the file to Jane, despite Cho's slight frown. Lisbon caught his expression.

"You don't have to worry about Jane anymore," she told her former colleague. "We've come to an understanding."

But Cho wasn't buying it. "I could still make him disappear for you," he said. It was as if Jane weren't sitting right there.

Jane chuckled.

Lisbon smiled softly. "I'm fine."

Cho however, turned and held out his hand to Jane for the file. "I have to get this back to my FBI contact. Now that Derek Cleveland might be on their radar again, someone might go looking for this."

Jane returned it without malice.

"Thanks, Kimball," said Lisbon.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Cho," said Jane.

"Call me if you change your mind about him," said Cho, ignoring Jane. Then he turned to stride back to the door with his unmistakable military bearing.

"Well, he strikes me as a fun guy," said Jane in amusement. "I like him."

"You won't find a better man."

"Or a more loyal one, I gather."

"Nope."

They finished their repast in silence, and Lisbon felt the slight weight in her blazer pocket of the other envelope Cho had surreptitiously slipped to her. It was very thin, but it felt heavy as lead.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Two hours later, the surgeon came into the waiting room to announce to Jane that Alex was dead. The bullet had been much closer to his heart than they had thought, and despite their "trying everything we could" he'd died on the operating table.

"Thanks, Doctor," said Jane. This must be the worst part about a doctor's job, he thought absently.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, then left them there to assumedly deal with their pain. All Jane was feeling, however, was relief.

"I'm sorry too," said Lisbon. She reached for his hand, finding it cool and dry, just like the hospital.

"Don't be. I'm not."

He smiled a little, then squeezed her hand.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

She looked pointedly at the nurse's station. "Don't you need to fill out some paperwork?"

"No. I didn't even really know the man."

There was nothing she could say to that.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once again, Patrick Jane Investigations was inundated by the press, but Lisbon and Jane pushed through without comment, hurrying to the lobby, then up the elevator to the agency's offices.

"Holy, shit, Boss," said Rigsby by way of greeting.

"Tell me about it," she said blandly.

"Sorry about your father," said Van Pelt, her pretty face fairly oozing her sincerity.

"Thank you," said Jane. He was too tired to correct her. Jane went on into Lisbon's office, but she stayed behind to talk to her team.

"Cho fill you in?" she asked them.

"Yeah. But Boss," he said, lowering his voice substantially. "There's someone waiting in the spare office."

"Who?"

"Claims he's Derek Cleveland," whispered Van Pelt.

"Why are we whispering?" whispered Lisbon in amusement. "Jane!" she called.

He'd just settled onto the couch when he heard her call, and he sighed, then slowly got to his feet and returned to the lobby.

"Come with me," Lisbon said when he came back into the office lobby.

They opened the door to see Derek Cleveland standing at the window, leaning on his cane and looking out at the distant Tower Bridge, gleaming gold in the setting sun.

"How's the man who was shot?" asked the old man without preamble.

Lisbon glanced with concern at Jane, but he answered simply: "Dead."

"Sad news." He sighed wearily. "One more death on Kristina's head."

"What do you mean, _one more_?" asked Lisbon.

"I'm fairly certain she killed Samantha Hawkins too. If she didn't pay off someone to destroy the outside video surveillance cameras that prove she was there that night, you'll have proof that she was there, at least."

Jane and Lisbon looked at each other. Jane had been right.

Lisbon frowned. "How do you know about it?"

"He's had someone watching over her all these years," said Jane.

Cleveland nodded. He wasn't denying his affair with her. "Yes. But I never would have dreamed that bitch would go that far, after all these years, or I would have had armed guards at Sam's door."

"You could have called the police."

"Kristina's an old woman—even older than I am. She won't see a day of prison time, for either murder."

Jane quietly agreed.

"What are you doing here, Derek?" asked Jane. "In this office, I mean."

"I feel responsible for the death of your friend. I saw you run to him in the cemetery."

"Kristina brought the gun," Jain pointed out. "And Alex shouldn't have been there in the first place."

"Still…" said Cleveland. He sighed heavily. "I also figured you'd have questions, since I heard you were looking into my disappearance. I wanted to make sure the record was straight."

Lisbon briefly relayed what they'd learned from his FBI file.

"That's true enough, I suppose. And as to why I've taken the risk in coming back? Well, I'm dying, you see. Cancer. If a relative of my father's colleagues is still alive and is seeking revenge at this late date, it would be fine with me. Save my new family a lot of unnecessary medical expenses."

"Sorry to hear that," said Jane politely.

Cleveland smiled, one eerily reminiscent of Jane's. "We've all gotta die of something."

"How long since you've seen Samantha?" asked Lisbon.

"At least fifty years. She met somebody. I met somebody. The distance was just too painful a barrier to cross anymore. We both had new lives. It was for the best."

Lisbon felt unaccountably saddened by this information, and she purposefully avoided looking at Jane. Would he be leaving soon too? Find somebody that wasn't her? Start another new life?

"I have a question," said Jane, jarring into her thoughts. "The woman you got into the car with the day you disappeared-?"

"Erica Flynn?" he confirmed. "She was an informant for the FBI, like me. Seems she'd had…_relations _with a gangster or two they were interested in. She refused to leave California like I did, and she also had a big mouth. Well, I'm sure two great detectives such as yourselves can figure out why she ended up dead."

"Samantha knew her identity," said Lisbon.

Derek Cleveland smiled again, the same gentle glow in his eyes whenever he spoke of Samantha. "But she'd kept that secret all these years. If it got out that Erica had been in that car, someone would have figured out why I was there too."

Jane and Lisbon nodded. That made sense.

"Samantha implied her husband, Harold was somehow involved with all this," said Jane, remembering the old woman's last words in the nursing home.

"Harold Hawkins was a good man," said Cleveland. "A war hero. He died long before I fell in love with Samantha, before this whole mess began, but once upon a time he stood up for my father. He didn't believe all the rumors about his organized crime connections. Of course, I know now that was wrong, but he would never listen to a harsh word against my father or my family. He was a bad judge of character, with the exception of Sam, of course, but his heart was in the right place."

"What did your father do to garner such loyalty?" asked Jane.

"I don't know. That mystery died with both of them, I suppose."

Everyone was quiet a moment, and Lisbon, realizing Derek Cleveland seemed to be leaning more heavily on his cane, gestured belatedly that he sit in the desk chair. He waved her off.

"Thank you, my dear," he said, "but if I sit, you might not be able to get me back up." There was that oddly familiar charm again, the disarming smile, the sparkling green eyes, and she was helpless, as with the other man in the room, not to respond with a smile of her own. Lisbon felt a sudden kinship with Samantha Hawkins and Kristina Cleveland. There was no resisting a man who looked like this.

"I don't mean to pry," began Jane dryly, "but what happened with Kristina, that you would have found your way to Samantha instead?"

Cleveland had the grace to look sheepish.

"Kristina and I, well—we _had_ to get married. I had thought it would have been one night's mistake, but then she showed up at my door three months later, and well, people did things differently back in those days. But believe me, if I'd known I'd be marrying such a money-grubbing shrew, I would have defied society and just paid her off. But my father took an instant shine to her, insisted I go through with the marriage. I always felt trapped by both of them. Looking back, maybe _Dad_ should have married her." His grin turned wry.

"But then Samantha came along," he continued, "and although she was much older than I, I knew she was the woman I should have married." He shrugged sadly. "Sometimes fate is a harsh mistress."

Jane was nodding in agreement.

"I appreciate your coming here and filling in some blanks for us," said Lisbon. "You didn't have to do that. You could have just disappeared again, gone back to your private life."

"Oh, I intend to do just that, young lady. When I heard about Samantha, I had to come back and pay my respects. I never guessed Kristina would come, though the way her mind works, I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me."

Cleveland began to move back toward the door.

"Thanks again for coming," said Jane.

"I'm am sorry for your friend," he said. "Did he have any family?"

"No," said Jane. "I don't think anyone will miss him."

"Too bad. I've come to realize how important family can be. We all need to belong to somebody."

Jane made no comment, but as Lisbon escorted the elderly man out of her office, he found Derek Cleveland's words still echoed in his mind.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He'd never been to her small townhouse before, and Jane looked around it, trying to get more insight into the woman who lived there. There were boxes stacked against one wall of the living room, as if she'd just moved in, but the clutter and stacks of NRA magazines showed she'd been there awhile.

_Messy women made good lovers_, he'd always said. He supposed Lisbon confirmed that theory.

Lisbon watched him assessing her home, and she herself found it wanting. She didn't spend much time there, so there were few homey touches, and there were still pictures on the wall put there by previous tenants. It was cleaner and smelled better, but it wasn't much more welcoming than Jane's motel room. Still, she'd invited him here because she didn't figure he'd wanted to stay where he'd spent his last night with his would-be father. Despite his coolness regarding Alex's passing, she figured he must either be in shock, or he just didn't want to show how deeply the loss had affected him.

"Make yourself at home," she told him, setting her things down on the table in the small foyer. The envelope Cho had given her was safely zipped inside her handbag. She had no idea what she was going to do with it.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, heading for the kitchen.

"Desperately," he said, sitting on her couch. He leaned his head back and immediately closed his eyes. It must have been at least ten minutes later, though it seemed like mere seconds when the smell of chamomile awakened him, and he opened his eyes to find Lisbon setting down a turquoise Fiestaware cup and saucer.

"Thank you," he said. But he didn't make any moves to pick up his cup. Instead, he reached for her hand.

"The tea can wait," he said, looking up into her soft green eyes. "I find I'm much more desperate for you at the moment."

She wanted him with her entire being, but the last time she'd gone to bed with him, he'd made her feel a fool. He plainly saw the doubt in her eyes.

"I'm through with that life, Teresa," he said. "Who I was when I met you died with Alex-whoever-his-name-was. I don't want to be that person anymore."

"Who _do_ you want to be?" she asked, heart pounding.

"I don't know," he said honestly—maybe the most honest he had been with another person since Angela. "But maybe you can help me find out."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_This should have been our first time_, thought Lisbon later, her arms and legs entwined with his beneath the covers. Her body felt languid and exquisitely fulfilled, her head rested on his bare chest, listening to the reassuring beat of his heart. She wondered if she could trust his word, that he was really here to stay. There was nothing to keep him here now, if he wasn't expecting money via blackmail.

Then, he spoke, and it was like he was reading her mind.

"How would you feel if I stayed on, continued to play the role of Patrick Jane?"

She lifted her head to look at him, her chin on his smooth skin. "Out of the goodness of your heart?"

He grinned. "Well, that and a commensurate salary, to be negotiated at a later date."

"Hmm," said Lisbon, but inside she was suffused with happiness. She could have everything she wanted, even a man she had partly created to her very own standards. "I'll have to talk it over with my partners."

"Fair enough."

"And you wouldn't mind becoming the honorable and dependable Patrick Jane?"

"Not at all. I sort of like the guy. He's got pizzazz."

She smiled in amusement. "He should. I created him."

His hand, which had been lightly caressing her back, crept up to her face to hold her while he bent his head for a kiss. She enjoyed the lazy warmth of his tongue, the sensual fullness of his lips, but then she suddenly pulled back a little, remembering the envelope, still sealed and waiting in her purse.

"What is it?" Jane asked, tensing slightly.

"I—I have something to confess," she said hesitantly. "When I was in your motel room the other night, I stole some of your DNA."

He made a face. "You kept some of my—?"  
She laughed, heat flooding her cheeks. "No! Of course not. I took some hair from your brush, and some whiskers from your razor."

"Oh," he said blandly. He waited, the only indication of his keen interest the quiet holding of his breath. She swallowed against her own trepidation.

"Uh, then I took one of Alex's cigarette butts. I sent the samples off to Cho to see if he could find out who you two really were, given you were both blackmailing me at the time. This was before I knew the whole story about your relationship."

He remained discomfortingly silent, waiting for her to continue. "Well, Cho gave me the preliminary results at the hospital today. He told me later on the phone that it wasn't the complete DNA analysis—that could take weeks." She took a breath and looked him straight in the eye. "They also looked to see if the samples could have come from two related people."

Jane moved to get out of bed, swinging his bare feet to the floor and walked naked out of her room. She watched in dismay as he left her, but part of her couldn't help but admire his well-formed backside as he moved.

"Jane-" she called after him.

She buried her face in the pillow, still warm from his body and redolent with his intoxicating cologne. She had no idea what he was thinking. Was he mad at her? Afraid to find out the results? Or didn't he care at all?

"Dammit," she muttered.

When she smelled something burning, she arose, grabbing her robe and slipping her arms into the sleeves as she hurried to the kitchen. Jane was holding the envelope from her purse over the gas flame of her stove. She paused to watch in fascination as he dropped the burning paper into the sink, where it curled up and turned to ash in seconds.

"Bad news?" she asked.

His gaze lifted from the sink, now the repository of his past.

"I don't know. I didn't open it."

"Oh," she said.

"Come here, Teresa," he said gently, noting her hesitation. She'd been afraid of his reaction to the tests, and he hadn't done much to reassure her. She nervously tied the belt of her robe and walked further into the kitchen until she stood before him by the sink.

"I don't care enough to know anymore. I have the chance now to start over, here, with you, as a man that I'm proud to be for once." The ghost of an ironic smile hovered on his lips. "Like the proverbial phoenix from the ashes, I will arise again as Patrick Jane, brilliant and famous private eye, along with his loyal sidekick, the beautiful Teresa Lisbon."

"Sidekick?" she said, one eyebrow arching in annoyance.

"Sure. You'd be in good company—Dr. Watson. Tonto. Sancho Panza. Chewbacca…"

He pulled her closer to him by her belt, his fingers deftly untying her hasty knot before slipping inside the silky fabric to settle on her waist. She felt his arousal against her stomach, and found it suddenly difficult to focus on why he'd annoyed her.

"I was thinking more like partners," she replied, her voice a little breathless. "Mulder and Scully. Maddie and David. Fred and Ginger. Masters and Johnson-"

"Bonnie and Clyde?" he suggested, .

Her hands slid over his chest to his shoulders and she looked into blue-green eyes that sparkled warmly down at her.

"Certainly not. You will be on your best behavior from now on, or there'll be hell to pay," she threatened darkly.

"Why, Ms. Lisbon, are you _blackmailing _me?"

"I suppose I am, Mr. Jane."

She gave a little cry of surprise when she suddenly found herself sitting on her kitchen table, a naked Patrick Jane standing between her legs. Before she could catch her breath, he was nibbling on her ear while the pads of his thumbs massaged her sensitive nipples.

"What if I promise to only misbehave a little bit," he whispered wickedly against her ear.

"Oh, I'd make you pay dearly for that," she said. Her hand had roamed down to grasp him. He gave an involuntary jerk and air hissed out through his teeth.

"You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Lisbon," he said tightly.

He dipped his head to replace his thumbs with his mouth, while his talented fingers found her slick and ready .

"Maybe…" she amended, her grip tightening around him, leading him home. "There might be room for—ahh—further…negotiations…"

**THE END **

A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing this fic. I really hope you enjoyed it.

Unfortunately, we have a fairly long hiatus to get through again, but I hope to help pass the time with another story or two. Please put me on author alert and follow me on Twitter for further updates. See you soon!


End file.
